IMF    <IHI8i.ll 


It)     Av- 


A.JU-A.   C 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 


Afloat  on  the  Ohio 


AN  HISTORICAL   PILGRIMAGE 

OF  A  THOUSAND    MILES  IN  A 

SKIFF,    FROM    REDSTONE    TO 

CAIRO 


Y 

REUBEN  GOLD  THWAITES 

Secretary  of  the  State  Historical   Society  of 
Wisconsin,  Editor  of  "  The   Jesuit  Rela- 
tions,"  Author   of  "The    Colonies, 
1492-1730,"    "Historic  Water- 
ways," "The  Story  of  Wis- 
consin/'   "Our    Cycling 
Tour  in  England," 
etc.,  etc. 


CHICAGO 
WAY  &  WILLIAMS 

1897 


COPYRIGHT 

BY   REUBEN    GOLD   THWAITRS 
A.  D.,   1897 


To 

FREDERICK  JACKSON  TURNER,  Ph.  D., 
Professor  of  American   History  in  the   University  of 

Wisconsin,  who  loves  his  native  West 
and  with  rare  insight  and  gift  of  phrase 

interprets  her  story, 
this  Log  of  the  "Pilgrim"  is  cordially  inscribed. 


CONTENTS. 

PACK 

PREFACE.        -        -        -       - xi 

CHAPTER  I. 

On  the  Monongahela — The  over-mountain  path — Red- 
stone Old  Fort— The  Youghiogheny— Braddock's 
defeat.  -  •'  -  i 

CHAPTER  II. 
First  day  on  the  Ohio — At  Logstown.    -        -        -        -22 

CHAPTER  III. 
Shingis  Old  Town— The  dynamiter — Yellow  Creek.       -    29 

CHAPTER  IV. 

An  industrial  region — Steubenville— Mingo  Bottom— In 
a  steel  mill— Indian  character.  -  -  -  39 

CHAPTER  V. 

House-boat  life  —  Decadence  of  steamboat  traffic — 
Wheeling,  and  Wheeling  Creek.  -  -  -  -  50 

CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Big  Grave — Washington  and  Round  Bottom— A 
lazy  man's  paradise — Captina  Creek — George  Rogers 
Clark  at  Fish  Creek— Southern  types.  -  -  -  64 

CHAPTER  VII. 

In  Dixie — Oil  and  natural  gas,  at  Witten's  Bottom — 
The  Long  Reach — Photographing  crackers — Visitors 
in  camp.   -        -        -        -        -   .     -        -        -        -    77 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII.  PAGE 

Life  ashore  and  afloat— Marietta,  "  the  Plymouth  Rock 
of  the  West  "—The  Little  Kanawha— The  story  of 
Blennerhassett's  Island.  -  -  87 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Poor  whites — First  library  in  the  West — An  hour  at 
Hockingport — A  hermit  fisher.  -  99 

CHAPTER  X. 

Cliff-dwellers,  on  Long  Bottom — Pomeroy  Bend — Le- 
tart's  Island,  and  Rapids — Game,  in  the  early  day — 
Rainy  weather — In  a  "  cracker  "  home.  -  -  -  109 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Battle  of  Point  Pleasant— The  story  of  Gallipolis— 
Rosebud  —  Huntington — The  genesis  of  a  house- 
boater.  -  ...  I2g 

CHAPTER  XII.      , 

In  a  fog— The  Big  Sandy— Rainy  weather— Operatic 
gypsies — An  ancient  tavern. 139 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Scioto,  and  the  Shawanese — A  night  at  Rome — 
Limestone — Keels,  flats,  and  boatmen  of  the  olden 
time. -  -  -  -  150 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Produce-boats — A  dead  town — On  the  Great  Bend — 
Grant's  birthplace— The  Little  Miami— The  genesis 
of  Cincinnati. 168 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  story  of  North  Bend— The  ' '  shakes  " — Driftwood- 
Rabbit  hash— A  side-trip  to  Big  Bone  Lick.  -  -  182 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  XVI.  PAGE 

New  Switzerland  —  An  old-time  river  pilot— House- 
boat life  on  the  lower  reaches— A  philosopher  in 
rags— Wooded  solitudes— Arrival  at  Louisville.  -  202 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Storied  Louisville — Red  Indians  and  white — A  night  on 
Sand  Island— New  Albany— Riverside  hermits— The 
river  falling— A  deserted  village— An  ideal  camp.  -  218 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Village  life — A  traveling  photographer — On  a  country 
road — Studies  in  color — Again  among  colliers — In 
sweet  content — A  ferry  romance.  -  -  -  -  233 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Fishermen's  tales — Skiff  nomenclature — Green  River — 
Evansville — Henderson — Audubon  and  Rafinesque — 
Floating  shops— The  Wabash.  -  251 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Shawneetown — Farm-houses  on  stilts — Cave-in-Rock — 
Island  nights.    ------  -  267 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

The  Cumberland  and  the  Tennessee— Stately  soli- 
tudes— Old  Fort  Massac — Dead  towns  in  Egypt — 
The  last  camp — Cairo.  *  280 


Appendix  ^.—Historical  outline  of  Ohio  Valley  settle- 
ment. -  -  -  .  -  - 296 

Appendix  B. — Selected  list  of  Journals  of  previous  trav- 
elers down  the  Ohio. 320 

INDEX.     -       .       .       . 329 


PREFACE. 

THERE  were  four  of  us  pilgrims — my  Wife, 
our  Boy  of  ten  and  a  half  years,  the  Doctor, 
and  I.  My  object  in  going — the  others  went 
for  the  outing — was  to  gather  "local  color" 
for  work  in  Western  history.  The  Ohio  River 
was  an  important  factor  in  the  development 
of  the  West.  I  wished  to  know  the  great 
waterway  intimately  in  its  various  phases, — to 
see  with  my  own  eyes  what  the  borderers  saw; 
in  imagination,  to  redress  the  pioneer  stage, 
and  repeople  it. 

A  motley  company  have  here  performed 
their  parts:  Savages  of  the  mound-building 
age,  rearing  upon  these  banks  curious  earth- 
works for  archaeologists  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury to  puzzle  over;  Iroquois  war-parties, 
silently  swooping  upon  sleeping  villages  of  the 
Shawanese,  and  in  noisy  glee  returning  to  the 
New  York  lakes,  laden  with  spoils  and  cap- 
tives; La  Salle,  prince  of  French  explorers 
and  coureurs  de  bois,  standing  at  the  Falls  of 

xi 


xii  PREFACE 

the  Ohio,  and  seeking  to  fathom  the  geograph- 
ical mysteries  of  the  continent;  French  and 
English  fur-traders,  in  bitter  contention  for 
the  patronage  of  the  red  man;  borderers  of 
the  rival  nations,  shedding  each  other's  blood 
in  protracted  partisan  wars;  surveyors  like 
Washington  and  Boone  and  the  McAfees,  clad 
in  fringed  hunting-shirts  and  leathern  leggings, 
mapping  out  future  states;  hardy  frontiers- 
men, fighting,  hunting,  or  farming,  as  occasion 
demanded;  George  Rogers  Clark,  descending 
the  river  with  his  handful  of  heroic  Virginians 
to  win  for  the  United  States  the  great  North- 
west, and  for  himself  the  laurels  of  fame; 
the  Marietta  pilgrims,  beating  Revolutionary 
swords  into  Ohio  plowshares;  and  all  that 
succeeding  tide  of  immigrants  from  our  own 
Atlantic  coast  and  every  corner  of  Europe, 
pouring  down  the  great  valley  to  plant  power- 
ful commonwealths  beyond  the  mountains. 
A  richly-varied  panorama  of  life  passes  before 
us  as  we  contemplate  the  glowing  story  of 
the  Ohio. 

In  making  our  historical  pilgrimage  we  might 
more  easily  have  « '  steamboated  "  the  river, — 
to  use  a  verb  in  local  vogue;  but,  from  the 
deck  of  a  steamer,  scenes  take  on  a  different 


PREFACE  xiii 

aspect  than  when  viewed  from  near  the  level 
of  the  flood;  for  a  passenger  by  such  a  craft, 
the  vistas  of  a  winding  stream  change  so  rap- 
idly that  he  does  not  realize  how  it  seemed  to 
the  canoeist  or  flatboatman  of  old;  and  there 
are  too  many  modern  distractions  about  such 
a  mode  of  progress.  To  our  minds,  the  man- 
ner of  our  going  should  as  nearly  as  possible 
be  that  of  the  pioneer  himself — hence  our  skiff, 
and  our  nightly  camp  in  primitive  fashion. 

The  trip  was  successful,  whatever  the  point 
of  view.  Physically,  those  six  weeks  ' '  Afloat 
on  the  Ohio"  were  a  model  outing — at  times 
rough,  to  be  sure,  but  exhilarating,  health- 
giving,  brain-inspiring.  The  Log  of  the  ' '  Pil- 
grim "  seeks  faintly  to  outline  our  experiences, 
but  no  words  can  adequately  describe  the 
wooded  hill-slopes  which  day  by  day  girt  us 
in;  the  romantic  ravines  which  corrugate  the 
rim  of  the  Ohio's  basin;  the  beautiful  islands 
which  stud  the  glistening  tide;  the  great  afflu- 
ents which,  winding  down  for  a  thousand 
miles,  from  the  Blue  Ridge,  the  Cumberland, 
and  the  Great  Smoky,  pour  their  floods  into 
the  central  stream;  the  giant  trees — syca- 
mores, pawpaws,  cork  elms,  catalpas,  walnuts, 
and  what  not — which  everywhere  are  in  view 


xiv  PREFACE 

in  this  woodland  world;  the  strange  and  lovely 
flowers  we  saw;  the  curious  people  we  met, 
black  and  white,  and  the  varieties  of  dialect 
which  caught  our  ear;  the  details  of  our 
charming  gypsy  life,  ashore  and  afloat,  during 
which  we  were  conscious  of  the  red  blood 
tingling  through  our  veins,  and,  alert  to  the 
whisperings  of  Nature,  were  careless  of  the 
workaday  world,  so  far  away, — simply  glad  to 
be  alive. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  the  numer- 
ous historical  references  in  the  Log,  I  have 
thought  it  well  to  present  in  the  Appendix 
a  brief  sketch  of  the  settlement  of  the  Ohio 
Valley.  To  this  Appendix,  as  a  preliminary 
reading,  I  invite  those  who  may  care  to  follow 
' '  Pilgrim  "  and  her  crew  upon  their  long  jour- 
ney from  historic  Redstone  down  to  the  Father 
of  Waters. 

A  selected  list  of  Journals  of  previous  trav- 
elers down  the  Ohio,  has  been  added,  for  the 
benefit  of  students  of  the  social  and  economic 
history  of  this  important  gateway  to  the  con- 
tinental interior. 

R.  G.  T. 
MADISON,  Wis.,  October,  1897. 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 


CHAPTER   I. 

ON  THE  MONONGAHELA — THE  OVER-MOUNTAIN 
PATH — REDSTONE  OLD  FORT — THE  YOUGH- 
IOGHENY — BRADDOCK'S  DEFEAT. 

IN  CAMP  NEAR  CHARLEROI,  PA.,  Friday, 
May  4. — Pilgrim,  built  for  the  glassy  lakes 
and  smooth-flowing  rivers  of  Wisconsin,  had 
suffered  unwonted  indignities  in  her  rough 
journey  of  a  thousand  miles  in  a  box-car.  But 
beyond  a  leaky  seam  or  two,  which  the  Doc- 
tor had  righted  with  clouts  and  putty,  and 
some  ugly  scratches  which  were  only  paint- 
deep,  she  was  in  fair  trim  as  she  gracefully  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  Brownsville  shipyard  this 
morning  and  received  her  lading. 

There  were  spectators  in  abundance. 
Brownsville,  in  the  olden  day,  had  seen  many 
an  expedition  set  out  from  this  spot  for  the 
1 


2  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

grand  tour  of  the  Ohio,  but  not  in  the  per- 
sonal recollection  of  any  in  this  throng  of 
idlers,  for  the  era  of  the  flatboat  and  pirogue 
now  belongs  to  history.  Our  expedition  is  a 
revival,  and  therein  lies  novelty.  However, 
the  historic  spirit  was  not  evident  among  our 
visitors — railway  men,  coal  miners  loafing 
out  the  duration  of  a  strike,  shipyard  hands 
lying  in  wait  for  busier  times,  small  boys 
blessed  with  as  much  leisure  as  curiosity,  and 
that  wonder  of  wonders,  a  bashful  newspaper 
reporter.  Their  chief  concern  centered  in  the 
query,  how  Pilgrim  could  hold  that  goodly 
heap  of  luggage  and  still  have  room  to  spare 
for  four  passengers?  It  became  evident  that 
her  capacity  is  akin  to  that  of  the  magician's 
bag. 

"A  dandy  skiff,  gents!"  said  the  foreman 
of  the  shipyard,  as  we  settled  into  our  seats — 
the  Doctor  bow,  I  stroke,  with  W —  and  the 
Boy  in  the  stern  sheets.  Having  in  silence 
critically  watched  us  for  a  half  hour,  seated  on 
a  capstan,  his  red  flannel  shirt  rolled  up  to  his 
elbows,  and  well-corded  chest  and  throat  bared 
to  wind  and  weather,  this  remark  of  the  fore- 
man was  evidently  the  studied  judgment  of  an 
expert.  It  was  taken  as  such  by  the  good- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  3 

natured  crowd,  which,  as  we  pushed  off  into 
the  stream,  lustily  joined  in  a  chorus  of  '  'Good- 
bye!" and  "Good  luck  to  yees,  an' ye  don't 
git  th'  missus  drowndid  'fore  ye  git  to  Cairo!" 

The  current  is  slight  on  these  lower  reaches 
of  the  Monongahela.  It  comes  down  gayly 
enough  from  the  West  Virginia  hills,  over 
many  a  rapid,  and  through  swirls  and  eddies 
in  plenty,  until  Morgantown  is  reached;  and 
then,  settling  into  a  more  sedate  course,  is  at 
Brownsville  finally  converted  into  a  mere  mill- 
pond,  by  the  back-set  of  the  four  slack-water 
dams  between  there  and  Pittsburg.  This 
means  solid  rowing  for  the  first  sixty  miles  of 
our  journey,  with  a  current  scarcely  percep- 
tible. 

The  thought  of  it  suggests  lunch.  At  the 
mouth  of  Redstone  Creek,  a  mile  below  Dun- 
lap  Creek,  our  port  of  departure,  we  turn  in  to 
a  shaly  beach  at  the  foot  of  a  wooded  slope, 
in  semi-rusticity,  and  fortify  the  inner  man. 

A  famous  spot,  this  Redstone  Creek.  Be- 
tween its  mouth  and  that  of  Dunlap's  was 
made,  upon  the  site  of  extensive  Indian  forti- 
fication mounds,  the  first  English  agricultural 
settlement  west  of  the  Alleghanies.  It  is  un- 
safe to  establish  dates  for  first  discoveries,  or 


4  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

for  first  settlements.  The  wanderers  who, 
first  of  all  white  men,  penetrated  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  wilderness  were  mostly  of  the 
sort  who  left  no  documentary  traces  behind 
them.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  first 
Redstone  settlement  was  made  as  early  as 
1750,  the  year  following  the  establishment  of 
the  Ohio  Company,  which  had  been  chartered 
by  the  English  crown  and  given  a  half-million 
acres  of  land  west  of  the  mountains  and  south 
of  the  Ohio  River,  provided  it  established 
thereon  a  hundred  families  within  seven  years. 
"Redstone  Old  Fort" — the  name  had  ref- 
erence to  the  aboriginal  earthworks — played 
a  part  in  the  Fort  Necessity  and  Braddock 
campaigns  and  in  later  frontier  wars;  and, 
being  the  western  terminus  of  the  over-moun- 
tain road  known  at  various  historic  periods  as 
Nemacolin's  Path,  Braddock's  Road,  and 
Cumberland  Pike,  was  for  many  years  the 
chief  point  of  departure  for  Virginia  expedi- 
tions down  the  Ohio  River.  Washington,  who 
had  large  landed  interests  on  the  Ohio,  knew 
Redstone  well;  and  here  George  Rogers  Clark 
set  out  (1778)  upon  flatboats,  with  his  rough- 
and-ready  Virginia  volunteers,  to  capture  the 
country  north  of  the  Ohio  for  the  American 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  6 

arms — one  of  the  least  known,  but  most  mo- 
mentous conquests  in  history. 

Early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  Redstone 
became  Brownsville.  But,  whether  as  Red- 
stone or  Brownsville,  it  was,  in  its  day,  like 
most  "jumping  off"  places  on  the  edge  of 
civilization,  a  veritable  Sodom.  Wrote  good 
old  John  Pope,  in  his  Journal  of  1790,  and  in 
the  same  strain  scores  of  other  veracious  chron- 
iclers: ' '  At  this  Place  we  were  detained  about 
a  Week,  experiencing  every  Disgust  which 
Rooks  and  Harpies  could  excite. "  Here  thrived 
extensive  yards  in  which  were  built  flatboats, 
arks,  keel  boats,  and  all  that  miscellaneous 
collection  of  water  craft  which,  with  their 
roisterly  crews,  were  the  life  of  the  Ohio  before 
the  introduction  of  steam  rendered  vessels  of 
deeper  draught  essential;  whereupon  much  of 
the  shipping  business  went  down  the  river  to 
better  stages  of  water,  first  to  Pittsburg,  thence 
to  Wheeling,  and  to  Steubenville. 

All  that  is  of  the  past.  Brownsville  is  still 
a  busy  corner  of  the  world,  though  of  a  differ- 
ent sort,  with  all  its  romance  gone.  To  the 
student  of  Western  history,  Brownsville  will 
always  be  a  shrine — albeit  a  smoky,  dusty 
shrine,  with  the  smell  of  lubricators  and  the 


6  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

clang  of  hammers,  and  much  talk  thereabout 
of  the  glories  of  Mammon. 

The  Monongahela  is  a  characteristic  moun- 
tain trough.  From  an  altitude  of  four  or  five 
hundred  feet,  the  country  falls  in  sharp  steeps 
to  a  narrow  alluvial  bench,  and  then  a  broad 
beach  of  shale  and  pebble;  the  slopes  are 
broken,  here  and  there,  where  deep,  shadowy 
ravines  come  winding  down,  bearing  muddy 
contributions  to  the  greater  flood.  The  higher 
hills  are  crowned  with  forest  trees,  the  lower 
ofttimes  checkered  with  brown  fields,  recently 
planted,  and  rows  of  vines  trimmed  low  to 
stakes,  as  in  the  fashion  of  the  Rhine.  The 
stream,  though  still  majestic  in  its  sweep,  is 
henceforth  a  commercial  slack-water,  lined 
with  noisy,  grimy,  matter-of-fact  manufactur- 
ing towns,  for  the  most  part  literally  abutting 
one  upon  the  other  all  of  the  way  down  to 
Pittsburg,  and  fast  defiling  the  once  picturesque 
banks  with  the  gruesome  offal  of  coal  mines 
and  iron  plants.  Surprising  is  the  density  of 
settlement  along  the  river.  Often,  four  or  five 
full-fledged  cities  are  at  once  in  view  from  our 
boat,  the  air  is  thick  with  sooty  smoke  belched 
from  hundreds  of  stacks,  the  ear  is  almost 


AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO  7 

deafened  with  the  whirr  and  roar  and  bang  of 
milling  industries. 

Tipples  of  bituminous  coal-shafts  are  ever 
in  sight — begrimed  scaffolds  of  wood  and  iron, 
arranged  for  dumping  the  product  of  the  mines 
into  both  barges  and  railway  cars.  Either 
bank  is  lined  with  railways,  in  sight  of  which 
we  shall  almost  continually  float,  all  the  way 
down  to  Cairo,  nearly  eleven  hundred  miles 
away.  At  each  tipple  is  a  miners'  hamlet;  a 
row  of  cottages  or  huts,  cast  in  a  common 
mold,  either  unpainted,  or  bedaubed  with  that 
cheap,  ugly  red  with  which  one  is  familiar  in 
railway  bridges  and  rural  barns.  Sometimes 
these  huts,  though  in  the  mass  dreary  enough, 
are  kept  in  neat  repair;  but  often  are  they 
sadly  out  of  elbows — pigs  and  children  pro- 
miscuously at  their  doors,  paneless  sash  stuffed 
with  rags,  unsightly  litter  strewn  around, 
misery  stamped  on  every  feature  of  the  home- 
less tenements.  Dreariest  of  all  is  a  deserted 
mining  village,  and  there  are  many  such — the 
shaft  having  been  worked  out,  or  an  unquench- 
able subterranean  fire  left  to  smolder  in  neg- 
lect. Here  the  tipple  has  fallen  into  creaking 
decrepitude;  the  cabins  are  without  windows 
or  doors — these  having  been  taken  to  some 


8  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

newer  hamlet;  ridge-poles  are  sunken,  chim- 
neys tottering;  soot  covers  the  gaunt  bones, 
which  for  all  the  world  are  like  a  row  of  skel- 
etons, perched  high,  and  grinning  down  at  you 
in  their  misery;  while  the  black  offal  of  the 
pit,  covering  deep  the  original  beauty  of  the 
once  green  slope,  is  in  its  turn  being  veiled 
with  climbing  weeds — such  is  Nature's  haste, 
when  untrammeled,  to  heal  the  scars  wrought 
by  man. 

A  mile  or  two  below  Charleroi  is  Lock  No. 
4,  the  first  of  the  quartet  of  obstructions  be- 
tween Brownsville  and  Pittsburg.  We  are 
encamped  a  mile  below  the  dam,  in  a  cozy 
little  willowed  nook;  a  rod  behind  our  ample 
tent  rises  the  face  of  an  alluvial  terrace,  occu- 
pied by  a  grain-field,  running  back  for  an  hun- 
dred yards  to  the  hills,  at  the  base  of  which  is 
a  railway  track.  Across  the  river,  here  some 
two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  wide,  the  dark, 
rocky  bluffs,  slashed  with  numerous  ravines, 
ascend  sharply  from  the  flood;  at  the  quarried 
base,  a  wagon  road  and  the  customary  railway; 
and  upon  the  stony  beach,  two  or  three  rough 
shelter-tents,  housing  the  Black  Diamond 
Brass  Band,  of  Monongahela  City,  out  on  a 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  9 

week's  picnic  to  while  away  the  period  of  the 
strike. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  when  we  struck  camp, 
and  our  frugal  repast  was  finished  by  lantern- 
light.  The  sun  sets  early  in  this  narrow  trough 
through  the  foothills  of  the  Laurel  range. 

McKEESPORT,  PA.,  Saturday,  May  5th. — 
Out  there  on  the  beach,  near  Charleroi,  with 
the  sail  for  an  awning,  Pilgrim  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  boudoir  for  the  Doctor,  who, 
snuggled  in  his  sleeping-bag,  emitted  an  occa- 
sional snore — echoes  from  the  Land  of  Nod. 
W —  and  our  Boy  of  ten  summers,  on  their 
canvas  folding-cots,  were  peacefully  oblivious 
of  the  noises  of  the  night,  and  needed  the  kiss 
of  dawn  to  rouse  them.  But  for  me,  always 
a  light  sleeper,  and  as  yet  unused  to  our  airy 
bedroom,  the  crickets  chirruped  through  the 
long  watches. 

Two  or  three  freighters  passed  in  the  night, 
with  monotonous  swish-swish  and  swelling 
wake.  It  arouses  something  akin  to  awe,  this 
passage  of  a  steamer's  wake  upon  the  beach, 
a  dozen  feet  from  the  door  of  one's  tent. 
First,  the  water  is  sucked  down,  leaving  for  a 
moment  a  wet  streak  of  sand  or  gravel,  a  dozen 


10  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

feet  in  width;  in  quick  succession  come  heavy, 
booming  waves,  running  at  an  acute  angle  with 
the  shore,  breaking  at  once  into  angry  foam, 
and  wasting  themselves  far  up  on  the  strand, 
for  a  few  moments  making  bedlam  with  any 
driftwood  which  chances  to  have  made  lodg- 
ment there.  When  suddenly  awakened  by 
this  boisterous  turmoil,  the  first  thought  is 
that  a  dam  has  broken  and  a  flood  is  at  hand; 
but,  by  the  time  you  rise  upon  your  elbow,  the 
scurrying  uproar  lessens,  and  gradually  dies 
away  along  a  more  distant  shore. 

We  were  slow  in  getting  off  this  morning. 
But  the  dense  fog  had  been  loath  to  lift;  and 
at  first  the  stove  smoked  badly,  until  we  dis- 
covered and  removed  the  source  of  trouble. 
This  stove  is  an  ingenious  contrivance  of  the 
Doctor's — a  box  of  sheet -iron,  of  slight  weight, 
so  arranged  as  to  be  folded  into  an  incredibly 
small  space;  a  vast  improvement  for  cooking 
purposes  over  an  open  camp-fire,  which  Pil- 
grim's crew  know,  from  long  experience  in  far 
distant  fields,  to  be  a  vexation  to  eyes  and  soul. 

Coaling  hamlets  more  or  less  deserted  were 
frequent  this  morning — unpainted,  window- 
less,  ragged  wrecks.  At  the  inhabited  mining 
villages,  either  close  to  the  strand  or  well  up 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  11 

on  hillside  ledges,  idle  men  were  everywhere 
about.  Women  and  boys  and  girls  were  stock- 
ingless  and  shoeless,  and  often  dirty  to  a  de- 
gree. But,  when  conversed  with,  we  found 
them  independent,  respectful,  and  self-respect- 
ing folk.  Occasionally  I  would,  for  the  mere 
sake  of  meeting  these  workaday  brothers  of 
ours,  with  canteen  slung  on  shoulder,  climb  the 
steep  flight  of  stairs  cut  in  the  clay  bank,  and 
on  reaching  the  terrace  inquire  for  drinking 
water,  talking  familiarly  with  the  folk  who 
came  to  meet  me  at  the  well-curb. 

There  are  old-fashioned  Dutch  ovens  in 
nearly  every  yard,  a  few  chickens,  and  often 
a  shed  for  the  cow,  that  is  off  on  her  daily 
climb  over  the  neighboring  hills.  Through 
the  black  pall  of  shale,  a  few  vegetables  strug- 
gle feebly  to  the  light;  in  the  corners  of  the 
palings,  are  hollyhocks  and  four-o'clocks;  and, 
on  window-sills,  rows  of  battered  tin  cans, 
resplendent  in  blue  and  yellow  labels,  are  the 
homes  of  verbenas  and  geraniums,  in  sickly 
bloom.  Now  and  then,  a  back  door  in  the 
dreary  block  is  distinguished  by  an  arbored 
trellis  bearing  a  grape-vine,  and  furnishing  for 
the  weary  housewife  a  shady  kitchen,  al  fresco. 
As  a  rule,  however,  there  is  little  attempt  to 


12  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

better  the  homeless  shelter  furnished  by  the 
corporation. 

We  restocked  with  provisions  at  Mononga- 
hela  City,  a  smart,  newish  town,  and  at  Eliz- 
abeth, old  and  dingy.  It  was  at  Elizabeth, 
then  Elizabethtown,  that  travelers  from  the 
Eastern  States,  over  the  old  Philadelphia  Road, 
chiefly  took  boat  for  the  Ohio — the  Virginians 
still  clinging  to  Redstone,  as  the  terminus  of 
the  Braddock  Road.  Elizabethtown,  in  flat- 
boat  days,  was  the  seat  of  a  considerable  boat- 
building industry,  its  yards  in  time  turning  out 
steamboats  for  the  New  Orleans  trade,  and 
even  sea-going  sailing  craft;  but,  to-day,  coal 
barges  are  the  principal  output  of  her  decaying 
shipyards. 

By  this  time,  the  duties  of  our  little  ship's 
company  are  well  denned.  W —  supervises 
the  cuisine,  most  important  of  all  offices;  the 
Doctor  is  chief  navigator,  assistant  cook,  and 
hewer  of  wood;  it  falls  to  my  lot  to  purchase 
supplies,  to  be  carrier  of  water,  to  pitch  tent 
and  make  beds,  and,  while  breakfast  is  being 
cooked,  to  dismantle  the  camp  and,  so  far  as 
may  be,  to  repack  Pilgrim ;  the  Boy  collects 
driftwood,  wipes  dishes,  and  helps  at  what  he 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  13 

can — while  all  hands  row  or  paddle  through  the 
livelong  day,  as  whim  or  need  dictates. 

Lock  No.  3,  at  Walton,  necessitated  a  por- 
tage of  the  load,  over  the  left  bank.  It  is  a 
steep,  rocky  climb,  and  the  descent  on  the 
lower  side,  strewn  with  stone  chips,  destructive 
to  shoe-leather.  The  Doctor  and  I  let  Pilgrim 
herself  down  with  a  long  rope,  over  a  shallow 
spot  in  the  apron  of  the  dam. 

At  six  o'clock  a  camping-ground  for  the  night 
became  desirable.  We  were  fortunate,  last 
evening,  to  find  a  bit  of  rustic  country  in  which 
to  pitch  our  tent;  but  all  through  this  after- 
noon both  banks  of  the  river  were  lined  with 
village  after  village,  city  after  city,  scarcely  a 
garden  patch  between  them — Wilson,  Coal 
Valley,  Lostock,  Glassport,  Dravosburg,  and 
a  dozen  others  not  recorded  on  our  map,  which 
bears  date  of  1882.  The  sun  was  setting  be- 
hind the  rim  of  the  river  basin,  when  we 
reached  the  broad  mouth  of  the  Youghiogheny 
(pr.  Yock-i-o-gai'-ny),  which  is  implanted 
with  a  cluster  of  iron-mill  towns,  of  which 
McKeesport  is  the  center.  So  far  as  we  could 
see  down  the  Monongahela,  the  air  was  thick 
with  the  smoke  of  glowing  chimneys,  and  the 
pulsating  whang  of  steel-making  plants  and 


14  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

rolling-mills  made  the  air  tremble.  The  view 
up  the  "  Yough  "  was  more  inviting;  so,  with 
oars  and  paddle  firmly  set,  we  turned  off  our 
course  and  lustily  pulled  against  the  strong 
current  pf  the  tributary.  A  score  or  two  of 
house-boats  lay  tied  to  the  McKeesport  shore  or 
were  bolstered  high  upon  the  beach;  a  fleet  of 
Yough  steamers  had  their  noses  to  the  wharf; 
a  half-dozen  fishermen  were  setting  nets;  and, 
high  over  all,  with  lofty  spans  of  iron  cobweb, 
several  railway  and  wagon  bridges  spanned 
the  gliding  stream. 

It  was  a  mile  and  a  half  up  the  Yough  before 
we  reached  the  open  country;  and  then  only 
the  rapidly-gathering  dusk  drove  us  ashore, 
for  on  near  approach  the  prospect  was  not 
pleasing.  Finally  settling  into  this  damp, 
shallow  pocket  in  the  shelving  bank,  we  find 
broad-girthed  elms  and  maples  screening  us 
from  all  save  the  river  front,  the  high  bank  in 
the  rear  fringed  with  blue  violets  which  emit 
a  delicious  odor,  backed  by  a  field  of  waving 
corn  stretching  off  toward  heavily-wooded 
hills.  Our  supper  cooked  and  eaten  by  lan- 
tern-light, we  vote  ourselves  as,  after  all, 
serenely  content  out  here  in  the  starlight — at 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  15 

peace  with  the  world,  and  very  close  to  Na- 
ture's heart. 

There  come  to  us,  on  the  cool  evening 
breeze,  faint  echoes  of  the  never-ceasing  clang 
of  McKeesport  iron  mills,  down  on  the  Mo- 
nongahela  shore.  But  it  is  not  of  these  we 
talk,  lounging  in  the  welcome  warmth  of  the 
camp-fire;  it  is  of  the  age  of  romance,  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  odd  years  ago,  when  Major 
Washington  and  Christopher  Gist,  with  fam- 
ished horses,  floundered  in  the  ice  hereabout, 
upon  their  famous  midwinter  trip  to  Fort  Le 
Bceuf;  when  the  "Forks  of  the  Yough"  be- 
came the  extreme  outpost  of  Western  advance, 
with  all  the  accompanying  horrors  of  frontier 
war;  and  later,  when  McKeesport  for  a  time 
rivaled  Redstone  and  Elizabethtown  as  a  cen- 
ter for  boat-building  and  a  point  of  departure 
for  the  Ohio. 

PITTSBURG,  Sunday,  May  6th. — Many  of 
the  trees  are  already  in  full  leaf.  The  tril- 
lium  is  fading.  We  are  in  the  full  tide  of 
early  summer,  up  here  in  the  mountains,  and 
our  long  journey  of  six  weeks  is  southward  and 
toward  the  plain.  The  lower  Ohio  may  soon 
be  a  bake-oven,  and  the  middle  of  June  will 
be  upon  us  before  far-away  Cairo  is  reached. 


16  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

It  behooves  us  to  be  up  and  doing.  The  river, 
flowing  by  our  door,  is  an  ever-pressing  invi- 
tation to  be  onward;  it  stops  not  for  Sunday, 
nor  ever  stops — and  why  should  we,  mere 
drift  upon  the  passing  tide? 

There  was  a  smart  thunder-shower  during 
breakfast,  followed  by  a  cool,  cloudy  morning. 
At  eleven  o'clock  Pilgrim  was  laden.  A  south- 
eastern breeze  ruffled  the  waters  of  the  Yough, 
and  for  the  first  time  the  Doctor  ordered  up 
the  sail,  with  W —  at  the  sheet.  It  was  not 
long  before  Pilgrim  had  the  water  ' '  singing  at 
her  prow."  With  a  rush,  we  flew  past  the 
factories,  the  house-boats,  and  the  shabby 
street-ends  of  McKeesport,  out  into  the  Mo- 
nongahela,  where,  luckily,  the  wind  still  held. 

At  McKeesport,  the  hills  on  the  right  are  of 
a  relatively  low  altitude,  smooth  and  well 
rounded.  It  was  here  that  Braddock,  in  his 
slow  progress  toward  Fort  Duquesne,  first 
crossed  the  Monongahela,  to  the  wide,  level 
bottom  on  the  left  bank.  He  had  found  the 
inner  country  to  the  right  of  the  river  and 
below  the  Yough  too  rough  and  hilly  for  his 
march,  hence  had  turned  back  toward  the 
Monongahela,  fording  the  river  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  less  difficult  bottom.  Some 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  17 

four  miles  below  this  first  crossing,  hills  reap- 
proach  the  left  bank,  till  the  bottom  ceases; 
the  right  thenceforth  becomes  the  more  favor- 
able side  for  marching.  With  great  pomp,  he 
recrossed  the  Monongahela  just  below  the 
point  where  Turtle  Creek  enters  from  the  east. 
Within  a  hillside  ravine,  but  a  hundred  yards 
inland,  the  brilliant  column  fell  into  an  am- 
buscade of  Indians  and  French  half-breeds, 
suffering  that  heart-sickening  defeat  which  will 
ever  live  as  one  of  the  most  tragic  events  in 
American  history. 

The  noisy  iron-manufacturing  town  of  Brad- 
dock  now  occupies  the  site  of  Braddock's  de- 
feat. Not  far  from  the  old  ford  stretches  the 
great  dam  of  Lock  No.  2,  which  we  portaged, 
with  the  usual  difficulties  of  steep,  stony  banks. 
Braddock  is  but  eight  miles  across  country 
from  Pittsburg,  although  twelve  by  river.  We 
have,  all  the  way  down,  an  almost  constant 
succession  of  iron  and  steel-making  towns, 
chief  among  them  Homestead,  on  the  left 
bank,  seven  miles  above  Pittsburg.  The  great 
strike  of  July,  1892,  with  its  attendant  horrors, 
is  a  lurid  chapter  in  the  story  of  American  in- 
dustry. With  shuddering  interest,  we  view  the 
famous  great  bank  of  ugly  slag  at  the  base  of 


18  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

the  steel  mills,  where  the  barges  housing  the 
Pinkerton  guards  were  burned  by  the  mob. 

To-day,  the  Homesteaders  are  enjoying 
their  Sunday  afternoon  outing  along  the  town 
shore — nurses  pushing  baby  carriages,  self- 
absorbed  lovers  holding  hands  upon  riverside 
benches,  merry-makers  rowing  in  skiffs  or 
crossing  the  river  in  crowded  ferries;  the  elec- 
tric cars,  following  either  side  of  the  stream 
as  far  down  as  Pittsburg,  crowded  to  suffoca- 
tion with  gayly-attired  folk.  They  look  little 
like  rioters;  yet  it  seems  but  the  other  day 
when  Homestead  men  and  women  and  children 
were  hysterically  reveling  in  atrocities  akin  to 
those  of  the  Paris  commune. 

Approaching  Pittsburg,  the  high  steeps  are 
everywhere  crowded  with  houses — great  masses 
of  smoke-color,  dotted  all  over  with  white 
shades  and  sparkling  windows,  which  seem,  in 
the  gray  afternoon,  to  be  ten  thousand  eyes 
coldly  staring  down  at  Pilgrim  and  her  crew 
from  all  over  the  flanking  hillsides. 

Lock  No.  i,  the  last  barrier  between  us  and 
the  Ohio,  is  a  mile  or  two  up  the  Mononga- 
hela,  with  warehouses  and  manufacturing 
plants  closely  hemming  it  in  on  either  side. 
A  portage,  unaided,  appears  to  be  impossible 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  19 

here,  and  we  resolve  to  lock  through.  But  it 
is  Sunday,  and  the  lock  is  closed.  Above,  a 
dozen  down-going  steamboats  are  moored  to 
the  shore,  waiting  for  midnight  and  the  re- 
sumption of  business;  while  below,  a  similar 
line  of  ascending  boats  is  awaiting  the  close 
of  the  day  of  rest.  Pilgrim,  however,  cannot 
hang  up  at  the  levee  with  any  comfort  to  her 
crew;  it  is  necessary,  with  evening  at  hand, 
and  a  thunder-storm  angrily  rising  over  the 
Pittsburg  hills,  to  get  out  of  this  grimy  pool, 
flanked  about  with  iron  and  coal  yards,  chim- 
ney stacks,  and  a  forest  of  shipping,  and  to 
quickly  seek  the  open  country  lower  down  on 
the  Ohio.  The  lock-keepers  appreciated  our 
situation.  Two  or  three  sturdy,  courteous 
men  helped  us  carry  our  cargo,  by  an  intricate 
official  route,  over  coils  of  rope  and  chains, 
over  lines  of  shafting,  and  along  dizzy  walks 
overhanging  the  yawning  basin;  while  the 
Doctor,  directed  to  a  certain  chute  in  mid- 
stream, took  unladen  Pilgrim  over  the  great 
dam,  with  a  wild  swoop  which  made  our  eyes 
swim  to  witness  from  the  lock. 

We  had  laboriously  been  rowing  on  slack- 
water,  all  the  way  from  Brownsville,  with  the 
help  of  an  hour's  sail  this  morning;  whereas, 


20  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

now  that  we  were  in  the  strong  current  below 
the  dam,  we  had  but  to  gently  paddle  to  glide 
swiftly  on  our  way.  A  hundred  steamers, 
more  or  less,  lay  closely  packed  with  their 
bows  upon  the  right,  or  principal  city  wharf. 
It  was  raining  at  last,  and  we  donned  our 
storm  wraps.  No  doubt  yellow  Pilgrim, — 
thought  hereabout  to  be  a  frail  craft  for  these 
waters, — her  crew  all  poncho-clad,  slipping 
silently  through  the  dark  water  swishing  at  their 
sterns,  was  a  novelty  to  the  steamboat  men,  for 
they  leaned  lazily  over  their  railings,  the  officers 
on  the  upper  deck,  engineers  and  roustabouts 
on  the  lower,  and  watched  us  curiously. 

Our  period  of  elation  was  brief.  Black 
storm-clouds,  jagged  and  portentous,  were 
scurrying  across  the  sky;  and  by  the  time  we 
had  reached  the  forks,  where  the  Mononga- 
hela,  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  joins  forces  with 
the  Alleghany,  Pilgrim  was  being  buffeted 
about  on  a  chop  sea  produced  by  cross  currents 
and  a  northwest  gale.  She  can  weather  an 
ordinary  storm,  but  this  experience  was  too 
much  for  her.  When  a  passing  steamer  threw 
out  long  lines  of  frothy  waves  to  add  to  the 
disturbance,  they  broke  over  our  gunwales; 
and  W —  with  the  coffee  pot  and  the  Boy 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  21 

with  a  tin  basin  were  hard  pushed  to  keep  the 
water  below  the  thwarts. 

Seeking  the  friendly  shelter  of  a  house-boat, 
of  which  there  were  scores  tied  to  the  left 
bank,  we  trusted  our  drenched  luggage  to  the 
care  of  its  proprietor,  placed  Pilgrim  in  a  snug 
harbor  hard  by,  and,  hurrying  up  a  steep  flight 
of  steps  leading  from  the  levee  to  the  terrace 
above,  found  a  suburban  hotel  just  as  its  office 
clock  struck  eight. 

Across  the  Ohio,  through  the  blinding  storm, 
the  dark  outlines  of  Pittsburg  and  Allegheny 
City  are  spangled  with  electric  lamps  which 
throw  toward  us  long,  shimmering  lances  of 
light,  in  which  the  mighty  stream,  gray,  mys- 
terious, tempest-tossed,  is  seen  to  be  surging 
onward  with  majestic  sweep.  Upon  its  bosom 
we  are  to  be  borne  for  a  thousand  miles.  Our 
introduction  has  been  unpropitious;  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  on  further  acquaintance  we  may 
be  better  pleased  with  La  Belle  Riviere. 


CHAPTER   II. 

FIRST   DAY   ON    THE    OHIO — AT    LOGSTOWN. 

BEAVER  RIVER,  Monday,  May  7th. — We 
have  to-day  rowed  and  paddled  under  a  cloud- 
less sky,  but  in  the  teeth  of  frequent  squalls, 
with  heavy  waves  freely  dashing  their  spray 
upon  us.  At  such  times  a  goodly  current, 
aided  by  numerous  wing-dams,  appears  of 
little  avail;  for,  when  we  rested  upon  our  oars, 
Pilgrim  would  be  unmercifully  driven  up 
stream.  Thus  it  has  been  an  almost  continual 
fight  to  make  progress,  and  our  five-and-twenty 
miles  represent  a  hard  day's  work. 

We  were  overloaded,  that  was  certain;  so 
we  stopped  at  Chartier,  three  miles  down  the 
river  from  Pittsburg,  and  sent  on  our  portly 
bag  of  conventional  traveling  clothes  by  ex- 
press to  Cincinnati,  where  we  intend  stopping 
for  a  day.  This  leaves  us  in  our  rough  boat- 
ing costumes  for  all  the  smaller  towns  en  route. 
What  we  may  lose  in  possible  social  embarrass- 
ments, we  gain  in  lightened  cargo. 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  23 

Here  at  the  mouth  of  Chartier's  Creek  was 
' '  Chartier's  Old  Town "  of  a  century  and  a 
third  ago;  a  straggling,  unkempt  Indian  village 
then,  but  at  least  the  banks  were  lovely,  and 
the  rolling  distances  clothed  with  majestic 
trees.  To-day,  these  creek  banks,  connected 
with  numerous  iron  bridges,  are  the  dumping- 
ground  for  cinders,  slag,  rubbish  of  every  de- 
gree of  foulness;  the  bare  hillsides  are  crowded 
with  the  ugly  dwellings  of  iron-workers;  the 
atmosphere  is  thick  with  smoke. 

Washington,  one  of  the  greatest  land  spec- 
ulators of  his  time,  owned  over  32,000  acres 
along  the  Ohio.  He  held  a  patent  from  Lord 
Dunmore,  dated  July  5,  1775,  for  nearly  3,000 
acres  lying  about  the  mouth  of  this  stream. 
In  accordance  with  the  free-and-easy  habit  of 
trans-Alleghany  pioneers,  ten  men  squatted  on 
the  tract,  greatly  to  the  indignation  of  the 
Father  of  his  Country,  who  in  1784  brought 
against  them  a  successful  suit  for  ejectment. 
Twelve  years  later,  more  familiar  with  this 
than  with  most  of  his  land  grants,  he  sold  it 
to  a  friend  for  $12,000. 

Just  below  Chartier  are  the  picturesque 
McKee's  Rocks,  where  is  the  first  riffle  in  the 
Ohio.  We  ' '  take  "  it  with  a  swoop,  the  white- 


24  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

capped  waves  dancing  about  us  in  a  miniature 
rapid.  Then  we  are  in  the  open  country,  and 
for  the  first  time  find  what  the  great  river  is 
like.  The  character  of  the  banks,  for  some 
distance  below  Pittsburg,  differs  from  that  of 
the  Monongahela.  The  hills  are  lower,  less 
precipitous,  more  graceful.  There  is  a  de- 
lightful roundness  of  mass  and  shade.  Beau- 
tiful villas  occupy  commanding  situations  on 
hillsides  and  hilltops;  we  catch  glimpses  of 
spires  and  cupolas,  singly  or  in  groups,  peeping 
above  the  trees;  and  now  and  then  a  pretty 
suburban  railway  station.  The  railways  upon 
either  bank  are  built  on  neat  terraces,  and,  far 
from  marring  the  scene,  agreeably  give  life  to 
it;  now  and  then,  three  such  terraces  are  to 
be  traced,  one  above  the  other,  against  the 
dark  background  of  wood  and  field — the  lower 
and  upper  devoted  to  rival  railway  lines,  the 
central  one  to  the  common  way.  The  mouths 
of  the  beautiful  tributary  ravines  are  crossed 
either  by  graceful  iron  spans,  which  frame 
charming  undercut  glimpses  of  sparkling  water- 
falls and  deep  tangles  of  moss  and  fern,  or  by 
graceful  stone  arches  draped  with  vines.  There 
are  terraced  vineyards,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Rhineland,  and  the  gentle  arts  of  the  florist 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  25 

and  the  truck-gardener  are  much  in  evidence. 
The  winding  river  frequently  sweeps  at  the 
base  of  rocky  escarpments,  but  upon  one  side 
or  the  other  there  are  now  invariably  bottom 
lands — narrow  on  these  upper  reaches,  but  we 
shall  find  them  gradually  widen  and  lengthen 
as  we  descend.  The  reaches  are  from  four  to 
seven  miles  in  length,  but  these,  too,  are  to 
lengthen  in  the  middle  waters.  Islands  are 
frequent,  all  day.  The  largest  is  Neville's,  five  . 
miles  long  and  thickly  strewn  with  villas  and 
market-gardens;  still  others  are  but  long  sand- 
bars grown  to  willows,  and  but  temporarily  in 
sight,  for  the  stage  of  water  is  low  just  now, 
not  over  seven  feet  in  the  channel. 

Emerging  from  the  immediate  suburbs  of 
Pittsburg,  the  fields  broaden,  farmsteads  are 
occasionally  to  be  seen  nestled  in  the  undula- 
tions of  the  hills,  woodlands  become  more 
dense.  There  are,  however,  small  rustic  towns 
in  plenty;  we  are  seldom  out  of  sight  of  these. 
Climbing  a  steep  clay  slope  on  the  left  bank, 
we  visited  one  of  them — Shousetown,  fourteen 
miles  below  the  city.  A  sad-eyed,  shabby 
place,  with  the  pipe  line  for  natural  gas  sprawl- 
ing hither  and  yon  upon  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  except  at  the  street  crossings,  where 


26  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

a  few  inches  of  protecting  earth  have  been  laid 
upon  it.  The  tariff  levied  by  the  gas  company 
is  ten  cents  per  month  for  each  light,  and  a 
dollar  and  a  half  for  a  cook-stove. 

We  passed,  this  afternoon,  one  of  the  most 
interesting  historic  points  upon  the  river — the 
picturesque  site  of  ancient  Logstown,  upon 
the  summit  of  a  low,  steep  ridge  on  the  right 
bank,  just  below  Economy,  and  eighteen  miles 
from  Pittsburg.  Logstown  was  a  Shawanese 
village  as  early  as  1727-30,  and  already  a 
notable  fur-trading  post  when  Conrad  Weiser 
visited  it  in  1748.  Washington  and  Gist 
stopped  at  ' '  Loggestown "  for  five  days  on 
their  visit  to  the  French  at  Fort  Le  Bceuf, 
and  several  famous  Indian  treaties  were  signed 
there.  A  short  distance  below,  Anthony 
Wayne's  Western  army  was  encamped  during 
the  winter  of  1792-93,  the  place  being  then 
styled  Legionville.  In  1824  George  Rapp 
founded  in  the  neighborhood  a  German  social- 
ist community,  and  this  later  settlement  sur- 
vives to  the  present  day  in  the  thriving  little 
rustic  town  of  Economy. 

At  four  o'clock  we  struck  camp  on  a  heavily- 
willowed  shore,  at  the  apex  of  the  great  north- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  27 

ern  bend  of  the  Ohio  (25  miles).*  Across  the 
river,  on  a  broad  level  bottom,  are  the  manu- 
facturing towns  of  Rochester  and  Beaver, 
divided  by  the  Beaver  River;  in  their  rear, 
well-rounded  hills  rise  gracefully,  checkered 
with  brown  fields  and  woods  in  many  shades 
of  green,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  flowering 
white  dogwood  rears  its  stately  spray.  Our 
sloping  willowed  sand-beach,  of  a  hundred  feet 
in  width,  is  thick  strewn  with  driftwood;  back 
of  this  a  clay  bank,  eight  feet  sheer,  and  a 
narrow  bottom  cut  up  with  small  fruit  and 
vegetable  patches;  the  gardeners'  neat  frame 
houses  peeping  from  groves  of  apple,  pear  and 
cherry,  upon  the  flanking  hillsides.  A  lofty 
oil-well  derrick  surmounts  the  edge  of  the  ter- 
race a  hundred  yards  below  our  camp.  The 
bushes  and  the  ground  round  about  the  well 
are  black  and  slimy  with  crude  petroleum,  that 
has  escaped  during  the  boring  process,  and  the 
air  is  heavy  with  its  odor.  We  are  upon  the 
edge  of  the  far-stretching  oil  and  gas-well  re- 

*  Figures  in  parentheses,  similarly  placed  throughout  the 
volume,  indicate  the  meandered  river  mileage  from  Pittsburg, 
according  to  the  map  of  the  Corps  of  Engineers,  U.  S.  A., 
published  in  1881.  The  actual  mileage  of  the  channel  is  a 
trifle  greater. 


28  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

gion,  and  shall  soon  become  familiar  enough 
with  such  sights  and  smells  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  our  nightly  camps. 

No  sooner  had  Pilgrim  been  turned  up  against 
a  tree  to  dry,  and  a  smooth  sandy  open  chosen 
for  the  camp,  than  the  proprietor  of  the  soil 
appeared — a  middling-sized,  lanky  man,  with 
a  red  face  and  a  sandy  goatee  surmounting  a 
collarless  white  shirt  all  bestained  with  tobacco 
juice.  He  inquired  rather  sharply  concerning 
us,  but  when  informed  of  our  innocent  errand, 
and  that  we  should  stay  with  him  but  the 
night,  he  promptly  softened,  explaining  that 
the  presence  of  marauding  fishermen  and  house- 
boat folk  was  incompatible  with  gardening 
for  profit,  and  he  would  have  none  of  them 
touch  upon  his  shore.  As  to  us,  we  were  wel- 
come to  stop  throughout  our  pleasure,  an  in- 
vitation he  reinforced  by  sitting  upon  a  stump, 
whittling  vigorously  meanwhile,  and  glibly 
gossiping  with  the  Doctor  and  me  for  a  half- 
hour,  on  crop  conditions  and  the  state  of  the 
country — "bein'  sociable  like,"  he  said,  "an' 
hav'n'  nuth'n  'gin  you  folks,  as  knows  what's 
what,  I  kin  see  with  half  a  eye!" 


CHAPTER    III. 

SHINGIS  OLD  TOWN — THE  DYNAMITER — YEL- 
LOW CREEK. 

KNEISTLY'S  CLUSTER,  W.  VA.,  Tuesday, 
May  8th. — We  were  off  at  a  quarter  past  seven, 
and  among  the  earliest  shoppers  in  Rochester, 
on  the  east  bank  of  the  Beaver,  where  supplies 
were  laid  in  for  the  day.  This  busy,  prosper- 
ous-looking place  bears  little  resemblance  to 
the  squalid  Indian  village  which  Gist  found 
here  in  November,  1750.  It  was  then  the 
seat  of  Barney  Curran,  an  Indian  trader — the 
same  Curran  whom  Washington,  three  years 
later,  employed  in  the  mission  to  Venango. 
But  the  smaller  sister  town  of  Beaver,  on  the 
lower  side  of  the  mouth, — or  rather  the  west- 
ern outskirts  of  Beaver  a  mile  below  the  mouth, 
— has  the  most  ancient  history.  On  account 
of  a  ford  across  the  Beaver,  about  where  is 
now  a  slack-water  dam,  the  neighborhood  be- 
came of  early  importance  to  the  French  as  a 
fur-trading  center.  With  customary  liberality 
29 


30  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

toward  the  Indians,  whom  they  assiduously 
cultivated,  the  French,  in  1756,  built  for  them, 
on  this  site,  a  substantial  town,  which  the 
English  indifferently  called  Sarikonk,  Sohkon, 
King  Beaver's  Town,  or  Shingis  Old  Town. 
During  the  French  and  Indian  War,  the  place 
was  prominent  as  a  rendezvous  for  the  enemies 
of  American  borderers;  numerous  bloody  forays 
were  planned  here,  and  hither  were  brought  to 
be  adopted  into  the  tribes,  or  to  be  cruelly 
tortured,  according  to  savage  whim,  many  of 
the  captives  whose  tales  have  made  lurid  the 
history  of  the  Ohio  Valley. 

Passing  Beaver  River,  the  Ohio  enters  upon 
its  grand  sweep  to  the  southwest.  The  wide 
uplands  at  once  become  more  rustic,  especially 
those  of  the  left  bank,  which  no  longer  is 
threaded  by  a  railway,  as  heretofore  all  the 
way  from  Brownsville.  The  two  ranges  of 
undulating  hills,  some  three  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  high,  forming  the  rim  of  the  basin,  are 
about  a  half  mile  apart;  while  the  river  itself 
is  perhaps  a  third  of  a  mile  in  width,  leaving 
narrow  bottoms  on  alternate  sides,  as  the 
stream  in  gentle  curves  rebounds  from  the 
rocky  base  of  one  hill  to  that  of  another. 
When  winding  about  such  a  base,  there  is  at 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  31 

this  stage  of  the  water  a  sloping,  stony  beach, 
some  ten  to  twenty  yards  in  width,  from  which 
ascends  the  sharp  steep,  for  the  most  part 
heavily  tree-clad — maples,  birches,  elms  and 
oaks  of  goodly  girth,  the  latter  as  yet  in  but 
half-leaf.  On  the  "bottom  side"  of  the  river, 
the  alluvial  terrace  presents  a  sheer  wall  of 
clay  rising  from  eight  to  a  dozen  feet  above  the 
beach,  which  is  often  thick-grown  with  willows, 
whose  roots  hold  the  soil  from  becoming  too 
easy  a  prey  to  the  encroaching  current.  Syca- 
mores now  begin  to  appear  in  the  bottoms, 
although  of  less  size  than  we  shall  meet  below. 
Sometimes  the  little  towns  we  see  occupy  a 
narrow  and  more  or  less  rocky  bench  upon  the 
hill  side  of  the  stream,  but  settlement  is  chiefly 
found  upon  the  bottoms. 

Shippingsport  (32  miles),  on  the  left  bank, 
where  we  stopped  this  noon  for  eggs,  butter, 
and  fresh  water,  is  on  a  narrow  hill  bench — a 
dry,  woe-begone  hamlet,  side-tracked  from 
the  path  of  the  world's  progress.  While  I  was 
on  shore,  negotiating  with  the  sleepy  store- 
keeper, Pilgrim  and  her  crew  waited  alongside 
the  flatboat  which  serves  as  the  town  ferry. 
There  they  were  visited  by  a  breezy,  red-faced 
young  man,  in  a  blue  flannel  shirt  and  a  black 


32  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

slouch  hat,  who  was  soon  enough  at  his  ease 
to  lie  flat  upon  the  ferry  gunwale,  his  cheeks 
supported  by  his  hands,  and  talk  to  W —  and 
the  Doctor  as  if  they  were  old  friends.  He 
was  a  dealer  in  nitroglycerin  cartridges,  he 
said,  and  pointed  to  a  long,  rakish-looking 
skiff  hard  by,  which  bore  a  red  flag  at  its  prow. 
"Ye  see  that?  Thet  there  red  flag?  Well, 
thet's  the  law  on  us  glyser^«  fellers — over  five 
hundred  poun's,  two  flags;  un'er  five  hundred, 
one  flag.  I've  two  hundred  and  fifty,  I  have. 
I  tell  yer  th'  steamboats  steer  clear  o'  me,  an' 
don'  yer  fergit  it,  neither;  they  jist  give  me  a 
wide  berth,  they  do,  yew  bet!  'n'  th'  railroads, 
they  don'  carry  no  glysereen  cartridge,  they 
don't — all  uv  it  by  skiff,  like  yer  see  me  goin'. " 
These  cartridges,  he  explained,  are  dropped 
into  oil  or  gas  wells  whose  owners  are  desirous 
of  accelerating  the  flow.  The  cartridge,  in 
exploding,  enlarges  the  hole,  and  often  the 
output  of  the  well  is  at  once  increased  by  sev- 
eral hundred  per  cent.  The  young  fellow  had 
the  air  of  a  self-confident  rustic,  with  little  ex- 
perience in  the  world.  Indeed,  it  seemed 
from  his  elated  manner  as  if  this  migjit  be  his 
first  trip  from  home,  and  the  blowing  of  oil 
wells  an  incidental  speculation.  The  Boy, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  33 

quick  at  inventive  nomenclature,  and  fresh 
from  a  reading  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson, 
called  our  visitor  "the  Dynamiter,"  and  by 
that  title  I  suppose  we  shall  always  remem- 
ber him. 

The  Dynamiter  confided  to  his  listeners  that 
he  was  going  down  the  river  for  "a  clean 
hundred  miles,  and  that's  right  smart  fur,  ain't 
it?  How  fur  down  be  yees  goin'?"  The  Doc- 
tor replied  that  we  were  going  nine  hundred; 
whereat  the  man  of  explosives  gave  vent  to 
his  feelings  in  a  prolonged  whistle,  then  a  horse 
laugh,  and  "Oh  come,  now!  Don' be  givin' 
us  taffy!  Say,  hones'  Injun,  how  fur  down  air 
yew  fellers  goin',  anyhow?"  It  was  with  some 
difficulty  that  he  could  comprehend  the  fact.  A 
hundred  miles  on  the  river  was  a  great  outing 
for  this  village  lad;  nine  hundred  was  rather 
beyond  his  comprehension,  although  he  finally 
compromised  by  ' '  allowing  "  that  we  might 
be  going  as  far  as  Cincinnati.  Wouldn't  the 
Doctor  go  into  partnership  with  him?  He  had 
no  caps  for  his  cartridges,  and  if  the  Doctor 
would  buy  caps  and  ' '  stan'  in  with  him  on  the 
cost  of  the  glysereen, ' '  they  would,  regardless 
of  Ohio  statutes,  blow  up  the  fish  in  unfre- 
quented portions  of  the  river,  and  make  two 
3 


34  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

hundred  dollars  apiece  by  carrying  the  spoils 
in  to  Wheeling.  The  Doctor,  as  a  law-abiding 
citizen,  good-naturedly  declined;  and  upon  my 
return  to  the  flat,  the  Dynamiter  was  handing 
the  Boy  a  huge  stick  of  barber-pole  candy, 
saying,  "Well,  yew  fellers,  we'll  part  friends, 
anyhow — but  sorry  yew  won't  go  in  on  this 
spec';  there's  right  smart  money  in  't,  'n'  don* 
yer  fergit  it!" 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  reached 
the  boundary  line  (40  miles)  between  Pennsyl- 
vania on  the  east  and  Ohio  and  West  Virginia 
on  the  west.  The  last  Pennsylvania  settle- 
ments are  a  half  mile  above  the  boundary — 
Smith's  Ferry  (right),  an  old  and  somewhat 
decayed  village,  on  a  broad,  low  bottom  at  the 
mouth  of  the  picturesque  Little  Beaver  Creek;* 
and  Georgetown  (left),  a  prosperous-looking, 
sedate  town,  with  tidy  lawns  running  down  to 
the  edge  of  the  terrace,  below  which  is  a  shelv- 
ing stone  beach  of  generous  width.  Two  high 
iron  towers  supporting  the  cable  of  a  current 
ferry  add  dignity  to  the  twin  settlements.  A 

*On  this  creek  was  the  hunting-cabin  of  the  Seneca 
(Mingo)  chief,  Half  King,  who  sent  a  message  of  welcome  to 
Washington,  when  the  latter  was  on  his  way  to  Great  Mead- 
ows (1754). 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  35 

stone  monument,  six  feet  high,  just  observable 
through  the  willows  on  the  right  shore,  marks 
the  boundary;  while  upon  the  left  bank,  sur- 
mounting a  high,  rock-strewn  beach,  is  the 
dilapidated  frame  house  of  a  West  Virginia 
"cracker,"  through  whose  garden-patch  the 
line  takes  its  way,  unobserved  and  unthought 
of  by  pigs,  chickens  and  children,  which  in 
hopeless  promiscuity  swarm  the  interstate 
premises. 

For  many  days  to  come  we  are  to  have 
Ohio  on  the  right  bank  and  West  Virginia  on 
the  left.  There  is  no  perceptible  change,  of 
course,  in  the  contour  of  the  rugged  hills  which 
hem  us  in;  yet  somehow  it  stirs  the  blood  to 
reflect  that  quite  within  the  recollection  of  all 
of  us  in  Pilgrim's  crew,  save  the  Boy,  that  left 
bank  was  the  house  of  bondage,  and  that  right 
the  land  of  freedom,  and  this  river  of  ours  the 
highway  between. 

East  Liverpool  (44  miles)  and  Wellsville 
(48  miles)  are  long  stretches  of  pottery  and 
tile-making  works,  both  of  them  on  the  Ohio 
shore.  There  is  nothing  there  to  lure  us,  how- 
ever, and  we  determined  to  camp  on  the  banks 
of  Yellow  Creek  (51  miles),  a  peaceful  little 
Ohio  stream  some  two  rods  in  width,  its  mouth 


36  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

crossed  by  two  great  iron  spans,  for  railway 
and  highway.  But  although  Yellow  Creek 
winds  most  gracefully  and  is  altogether  a 
charming  bit  of  rustic  water,  deep-set  amid 
picturesque  slopes  of  field  and  wood,  we  fail 
to  find  upon  its  banks  an  appropriate  camping- 
place.  Upon  one  side  a  country  road  closely 
skirts  the  shore,  and  on  the  other  a  railway, 
while  for  the  mile  or  more  we  pushed  along 
small  farmsteads  almost  abutted.  Hence  we 
retrace  our  path  to  the  great  river,  and,  drop- 
ping down-stream  for  two  miles,  find  what  we 
seek  upon  the  lower  end  of  the  chief  of  Kneist- 
ly's  Cluster — two  islands  on  the  West  Virginia 
side  of  the  channel. 

It  is  storied  ground,  this  neighborhood  of 
ours.  Over  there  at  the  mouth  of  Yellow 
Creek  was,  a  hundred  and  twenty  years  ago, 
the  camp  of  Logan,  the  Mingo  chief;  opposite, 
on  the  West  Virginia  shore,  Baker's  Bottom, 
where  occurred  the  treacherous  massacre  of 
Logan's  family.  The  tragedy  is  interwoven 
with  the  history  of  the  trans- Alleghany  border; 
and  schoolboys  have  in  many  lands  and  tongues 
recited  the  pathetic  defense  of  the  poor  Mingo, 
who,  more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  was 
crushed  in  the  inevitable  struggle  between 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  37 

savagery  and  civilization.      ' '  Who  is  there  to 
mourn  for  Logan?" 

We  are  high  and  dry  on  our  willowed  island. 
Above,  just  out  of  sight,  are  moored  a  brace 
of  steam  pile-drivers  engaged  in  strengthening 
the  dam  which  unites  us  with  Baker's  Bottom. 
To  the  left  lies  a  broad  stretch  of  gravel  strand, 
beyond  which  is  the  narrow  water  fed  by  the 
overflow  of  the  dam;  to  the  right,  the  broad 
steamboat  channel  rolls  between  us  and  the 
Ohio  hills,  while  the  far-reaching  vista  down- 
stream is  a  feast  of  shade  and  tint,  by  land  and 
water,  with  the  lights  and  smoke  of  New  Cum- 
berland and  Sloan's, Station  faintly  discernible 
near  the  horizon.  All  about  us  lies  a  beautiful 
world  of  woodland.  The  whistle  of  quails  in- 
numerable broke  upon  us  in  the  twilight,  suc- 
ceeding to  the  calls  of  rose-breasted  grosbeaks 
and  a  goodly  company  of  daylight  followers;  in 
this  darkening  hour,  the  low,  plaintive  note  of 
the  whip-poor-will  is  heard  on  every  hand, 
now  and  then  interrupted  by  the  hoarse  bark 
of  owls.  There  is  a  gentle  tinkling  of  cow- 
bells on  the  Ohio  shore,  and  on  both  are  human 
voices  confused  by  distance.  All  pervading  is 
the  deep,  sullen  roar  of  a  great  wing-cjam,  a 
half  mile  or  so  down-streara. 


38  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

The  camp  is  gypsy-like.  Our  washing  lies 
spread  on  bushes,  where  it  will  catch  the  first 
peep  of  morning  sun.  Perishable  provisions 
rest  in  notches  of  trees,  where  the  cool  evening 
breeze  will  strike  them.  Seated  upon  the 
"grub"  box,  I  am  writing  up  our  log  by  aid  of 
the  lantern  hung  from  a  branch  overhead, 
while  W — ,  ever  busy,  sits  by  with  her  mend- 
ing. Lying  in  the  moonlight,  which  through 
the  sprawling  willows  gayly  checkers  our  sand 
bank,  the  Doctor  and  the  Boy  are  discussing 
the  doings  of  Br'er  Rabbit — for  we  are  in  the 
Southland  now,  and  may  any  day  meet  good 
Uncle  Remus. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  INDUSTRIAL  REGION — STEUBENVILLE — MlN- 

GO  BOTTOM  —  IN  A   STEEL  MILL  —  INDIAN 
CHARACTER. 

MINGO  JUNCTION,  OHIO,  Wednesday,  May 
9th. — We  had  a  cold  night  upon  our  island. 
Upon  arising  this  morning,  a  heavy  fog  en- 
veloped us,  at  first  completely  veiling  the  sun; 
soon  it  became  faintly  visible,  a  great  ball  of 
burnished  copper  reflected  in  the  dimpled  flood 
which  poured  between  us  and  the  Ohio  shore. 
Weeds  arid  willows  were  sopping  wet,  as  was 
also  our  wash,  and  the  breakfast  fire  was  a 
comfortable  companion.  But  by  the  time  we 
were  off,  the  cloud  had  lifted,  and  the  sun 
gushed  out  with  promise  of  a  warm  day. 

Throughout  the  morning,  Pilgrim  glided 
through  a  thickly  settled  district,  reminding 
us  of  the  Monongahela.  Sewer-pipe  and  vit- 
rified-brick  works,  and  iron  and  steel  plants, 
abound  on  the  narrow  bottoms.  The  faptories 
and  mills  themselves  generally  wear  a  pros- 


40  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

perous  look;  but  the  dependent  towns  vary  in 
appearance,  from  clusters  of  shabby,  down-at- 
the-heel  cabins,  to  lines  of  neat  and  well- 
painted  houses  and  shops. 

We  visited  the  vitrified-brick  works  at  New 
Cumberland,  W.  Va.  (56  miles),  where  the 
proprietor  kindly  explained  his  methods,  and 
talked  freely  of  his  business.  It  was  the  old 
story,  too  close  a  competition  for  profit, 
although  the  use  of  brick  pavements  is  fast 
spreading.  Fire  clay  available  for  the  purpose 
is  abundant  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  all  the 
way  from  Pittsburg  to  Kingston  (60  miles). 
A  few  miles  below  New  Cumberland,  on  the 
Ohio  shore,  we  inspected  the  tile  works  at 
Freeman,  and  admired  the  dexterity  which  the 
workmen  had  attained. 

But  what  interested  us  most  of  all  was  the 
appalling  havoc  which  these  clay  and  iron  in- 
dustries are  making  with  the  once  beautiful 
banks  of  the  river.  Each  of  them  has  a  large 
daily  output  of  debris,  which  is  dumped  un- 
mercifully upon  the  water's  edge  in  heaps  from 
fifty  to  a  hundred  feet  high.  Sometimes  for 
nearly  a  mile  in  length,  the  natural  bank  is 
deep  buried  out  of  sight;  and  we  have  from 
our  canoe  naught  but  a  dismal  wall  of  rubbish, 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  41 

crowding  upon  the  river  to  the  uttermost  limit 
of  governmental  allowance.  Fifty  years  hence, 
if  these  enterprises  multiply  at  the  present 
ratio,  and  continue  their  present  methods,  the 
Upper  Ohio  will  roll  between  continuous  banks 
of  clay  and  iron  offal,  down  to  Wheeling  and 
beyond. 

Before  noon  we  had  left  behind  us  this  in- 
dustrial region,  and  were  again  in  rustic  sur- 
roundings. The  wind  had  gone  down,  the 
atmosphere  was  oppressively  warm,  the  sun's 
reflection  from  the  glassy  stream  came  with 
almost  scalding  effect  upon  our  faces.  We 
had  rigged  an  awning  over  some  willow  hoops, 
but  it  could  not  protect  us  from  this  reflection. 
For  an  hour  or  two — one  may  as  well  be 
honest — we  fairly  sweltered  upon  our  pilgrim- 
age, until  at  last  a  light  breeze  ruffled  the 
water  and  brought  blessed  relief. 

The  hills  are  not  as  high  as  hitherto,  and 
are  more  broken.  Yet  they  have  a  certain 
majestic  sweep,  and  for  the  most  part  are 
forest-mantled  from  base  to  summit.  Between 
them  the  river  winds  with  noble  grace,  contin- 
ually giving  us  fresh  vistas,  often  of  surpassing 
loveliness.  The  bottoms  are  broader  now, 
and  frequently  semicircular,  with  fine  farms 


42  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

upon  them,  and  prosperous  villages  nestled  in 
generous  groves.  Many  of  the  houses  betoken 
age,  or  what  passes  for  it  in  this  relatively  new 
country,  being  of  the  colonial  pattern,  with 
fan-shaped  windows  above  the  doors,  Grecian 
pillars  flanking  the  front  porch,  and  wearing 
the  air  of  comfortable  respectability. 

Beautiful  islands  lend  variety  to  the  scene, 
some  of  them  mere  willowed  "tow-heads" 
largely  submerged  in  times  of  flood,  while 
others  are  of  a  permanent  character,  often 
occupied  by  farms.  We  have  with  us  a  copy 
of  Cuming's  Western  Pilot  (Cincinnati,  1834), 
which  is  still  a  practicable  guide  for  the  Ohio, 
as  the  river's  shore  lines  are  not  subject  to  so 
rapid  changes  as  those  of  the  Mississippi; 
but  many  of  the  islands  in  Cuming's  are  not 
now  to  be  found,  having  been  swept  away  in 
floods,  and  we  encounter  few  new  ones.  It 
is  clear  that  the  islands  are  not  so  numerous 
as  sixty  years  ago.  The  present  works  of  the 
United  States  Corps  of  Engineers  tend  to  per- 
manency in  the  status  quo;  doubtless  the  gov- 
ernment map  of  1 88 1  will  remain  an  authori- 
tative chart  for  a  half  century  or  more  to  come. 

W — 's  enthusiasm  for  botany  frequently 
takes  us  ashore.  Landing  at  the  foot  of  some 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  43 

eroded  steep  which,  with  ragged  charm,  rises 
sharply  from  the  gravelly  beach,  we  fasten 
Pilgrim's  painter  to  a  stone,  and  go  scrambling 
over  the  hillside  in  search  of  flowers,  bearing 
in  mind  the  Boy's  constant  plea,  to  "Get  only 
one  of  a  kind,"  and  leave  the  rest  for  seed; 
for  other  travelers  may  come  this  way,  and 
'tis  a  sin  indeed  to  exterminate  a  botanical 
rarity.  But  we  find  no  rarities  to-day — only 
Solomon's  seal,  trillium,  wild  ginger,  cranebill, 
jack-in-the-pulpit,  wild  columbine.  Poison 
ivy  is  on  every  hand,  in  these  tangled  woods, 
with  ferns  of  many  varieties — chiefly  maiden- 
hair, walking  leaf,  and  bladder.  The  view 
from  projecting  rocks,  in  these  lofty  places,  is 
ever  inspiring;  the  country  spread  out  below 
us,  as  in  a  relief  map;  the  great  glistening 
river  winding  through  its  hilly  trough;  a 
rumpled  country  for  a  few  miles  on  either  side, 
gradually  trending  into  broad  plains,  checkered 
with  fields  on  which  farmsteads  and  rustic 
villages  are  the  chessmen. 

At  one  o'clock  we  were  at  Steubenville, 
Ohio  (67  miles),  where  the  broad  stoned  wharf 
leads  sharply  up  to  the  smart,  well-built,  sub- 
stantial town  of  some  sixteen  thousand  inhab- 
itants. W —  and  I  had  some  shopping  to  do 


44  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

there,  while  the  Doctor  and  the  Boy  remained 
down  at  the  inevitable  wharf-boat,  and  gos- 
siped with  the  philosophical  agent,  who  be- 
moaned the  decadence  of  steamboat  traffic  in 
general,  and  the  rapidly  falling  stage  of  water 
in  particular. 

Three  miles  below  Steubenville  is  Mingo 
Junction,  where  we  are  the  guests  of  a  friend 
who  is  superintendent  of  the  iron  and  steel 
works  here.  The  population  of  Mingo  is 
twenty-five  hundred.  From  seven  to  twelve 
hundred  are  employed  in  the  works,  according 
to  the  exigencies  of  business.  Ten  per  cent 
of  them  are  Hungarians  and  Slavonians — a 
larger  proportion  would  be  dangerous,  our  host 
avers,  because  of  the  tendency  of  these  people 
to  "run  the  town  "  when  sufficiently  numerous 
to  make  it  possible.  The  Slavs  in  the  iron 
towns  come  to  America  for  a  few  years,  intent 
solely  on  saving  every  dollar  within  reach. 
They  are  willing  to  work  for  wages  which  from 
the  American  standard  seem  low,  but  to  them 
almost  fabulous;  herd  together  in  surprising 
promiscuity;  maintain  a  low  scale  of  clothing 
and  diet,  often  to  the  ruin  of  health;  and 
eventually  return  to  Eastern  Europe,  where 
their  savings  constitute  a  little  fortune  upon 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  45 

which  they  can  end  their  days  in  ease.  This 
sort  of  competition  is  fast  degrading  legitimate 
American  labor.  Its  regulation  ought  not  to 
be  thought  impossible. 

A  visit  to  a  great  steel-making  plant,  in  full 
operation,  is  an  event  in  a  man's  life.  Par- 
ticularly remarkable  is  the  weird  spectacle 
presented  at  night,  with  the  furnaces  fiercely 
gleaming,  the  fresh  ingots  smoking  hot,  the 
Bessemer  converter  4<  blowing  off,"  the  great 
cranes  moving  about  like  things  of  life,  bearing 
giant  kettles  of  molten  steel;  and  amidst  it 
all,  human  life  held  so  cheaply.  Nearer  to 
mediaeval  notions  of  hell  comes  this  fiery  scene 
than  anything  imagined  by  Dante.  The  work- 
ing life  of  one  of  these  men  is  not  over  ten 
years,  B —  says.  A  decade  of  this  intense 
heat,  compared  to  which  a  breath  of  outdoor 
air  in  the  close  mill-yard,  with  the  midsummer 
sun  in  the  nineties,  seems  chilly,  wears  a  man 
out — "only  fit  for  the  boneyard  then,  sir," 
was  the  laconic  estimate  of  an  intelligent  boss 
whom  I  questioned  on  the  subject. 

Wages  run  from  ninety  cents  to  five  dollars 
a  day,  with  far  more  at  the  former  rate  than 
the  latter.  A  ninety-cent  man  working  in  a 
place  so  hot  that  were  water  from  a  hose  turned 


46  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

upon  him  it  would  at  once  be  resolved  into 
scalding  steam,  deserves  our  sympathy.  It  is 
pleasing  to  find  in  our  friend,  the  superinten- 
dent, a  strong  fellow-feeling  for  his  men,  and 
a  desire  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  alleviate  their 
condition.  He  has  accomplished  much  in 
improving  the  morale  of  the  town;  but  deep- 
seated,  inexorabl/s  economic  conditions,  ap- 
parently beyond  present  control,  render  nuga- 
tory any  attempts  to  better  the  financial 
condition  of  the  underpaid  majority. 

Mingo  Junction — "  Mingo  Bottom  "  of  old — 
was  an  interesting  locality  in  frontier  days. 
On  this  fertile  river  beach  was  long  one  of  the 
strongest  of  the  Mingo  villages.  During  the 
last  week  of  May,  1782,  Crawford's  little  army 
rendezvoused  here,  en  route  to  Sandusky,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  distant,  and  intent  on 
the  destruction  of  the  Wyandot  towns.  But 
the  Indians  had  not  been  surprised,  and  the 
army  was  driven  back  with  slaughter,  reaching 
Mingo  the  middle  of  June,  bereft  of  its  com- 
mander. Crawford,  who  was  a  warm  friend 
of  Washington,  suffered  almost  unprecedented 
torture  at  the  stake,  his  fate  sending  a  thrill 
of  horror  through  all  the  Western  settlements. 

Let  us  not  be  too  harsh  in  our  judgment  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  47 

these  red  Indians.  At  first,  the  white  colo- 
nists from  Europe  were  regarded  by  them  as 
of  supernatural  origin,  and  hospitality,  vener- 
ation, and  confidence  were  displayed  toward 
the  new-comers.  But  the  mortality  of  the 
Europeans  was  soon  made  painfully  evident 
to  them.  When  the  early  Spaniards,  and 
afterward  the  English,  kidnaped  tribesmen 
for  sale  into  slavery,  or  for  use  as  captive 
guides,  and  even  murdered  them  on  slight 
provocation,  distrust  and  hatred  naturally  suc- 
ceeded to  the  sentiment  of  awe.  Like  many 
savage  races,  like  the  earlier  Romans,  the  In- 
dian looked  upon  the  member  of  every  tribe 
with  which  he  had  not  made  a  formal  peace 
as  a  public  enemy;  hence  he  felt  justified  in 
wreaking  his  vengeance  on  the  race,  whenever 
he  failed  to  find  individual  offenders.  He  was 
exceptionally  cruel,  his  mode  of  warfare  was 
skulking,  he  could  not  easily  be  reached  in  the 
forest  fastnesses  which  he  alone  knew  well, 
and  his  strokes  fell  heaviest  on  women  and 
children;  so  that  whites  came  to  fear  and  un- 
speakably to  loathe  the  savage,  and  often 
added  greatly  to  the  bitterness  of  the  struggle 
by  retaliation  in  kind.  The  white  borderers 
themselves  were  frequently  brutal,  reckless, 


48  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO. 

lawless;  and  under  such  conditions,  clashing 
was  inevitable.  But  worse  agents  of  discord 
than  the  agricultural  colonists  were  the  itiner- 
ants who  traveled  through  the  woods  visiting 
the  tribes,  exchanging  goods  for  furs;  these 
often  cheated  and  robbed  the  Indian,  taught 
him  the  use  of  intoxicants,  bullied  and  brow- 
beat him,  appropriated  his  women,  and  in 
general  introduced  serious  demoralization  into 
the  native  camps.  The  bulk  of  the  whites 
doubtless  intended  to  treat  the  Indian  honor- 
ably; but  the  forest  traders  were  beyond  the 
pale  of  law,  and  news  of  the  details  of 
their  transactions  seldom  reached  the  coast 
settlements. 

As  a  neighbor,  the  Indian  was  difficult  to 
deal  with,  whether  in  the  negotiation  of  treaties 
of  amity,  or  in  the  purchase  of  lands.  Having 
but  a  loose  system  of  government,  there  was 
no  really  responsible  head,  and  no  compact 
was  secure  from  the  interference  of  malcon- 
tents, who  would  not  be  bound  by  treaties 
made  by  the  chiefs.  The  English  felt  that  the 
red  men  were  not  putting  the  land  to  its  full 
use,  that  much  of  the  territory  was  growing  up 
as  a  waste,  that  they  were  best  entitled  to  it 
who  could  make  it  the  most  productive.  On 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  49 

the  other  hand,  the  earlier  cessions  of  land 
were  made  under  a  total  misconception;  the 
Indians  supposed  that  the  new-comers  would, 
after  a  few  years  of  occupancy,  pass  on  and 
leave  the  tract  again  to  the  natives.  There 
was  no  compromise  possible  between  races 
with  precisely  opposite  views  of  property  in 
land.  The  struggle  was  inevitable — civiliza- 
tion against  savagery.  No  sentimental  notions 
could  prevent  it.  It  was  in  the  nature  of 
things  that  the  weaker  must  give  way.  The 
Indian  was  a  formidable  antagonist,  and  there 
were  times  when  the  result  of  the  struggle 
seemed  uncertain;  but  in  the  end  he  went  to 
the  wall.  In  judging  the  vanquished  enemy 
of  our  civilization,  let  us  not  underestimate  his 
intellect,  or  the  many  good  qualities  which 
were  mingled  with  his  savage  vices,  or  fail  to 
credit  him  with  sublime  courage,  and  a  tribal 
patriotism  which  no  disaster  could  cool. 


CHAPTER   V. 

HOUSEBOAT  LIFE  —  DECADENCE  OF  STEAM- 
BOAT TRAFFIC — WHEELING,  AND  WHEELING 
CREEK. 

ABOVE  MOUNDSVILLE,  W.  VA.,  Thursday, 
May  loth. — Our  friends  saw  us  off  at  the 
gravelly  beach  just  below  the  "works."  There 
was  a  slight  breeze  ahead,  but  the  atmosphere 
was  agreeable,  and  Pilgrim  bore  a  happy  crew, 
now  as  brown  as  gypsies;  the  first  painful  effects 
of  sunburn  are  over,  and  we  are  hardened  in 
skin  and  muscle  to  any  vicissitudes  which  are 
likely  to  be  met  upon  our  voyage.  Rough 
weather,  river  mud,  and  all  the  other  exigencies 
of  a  moving  camp,  are  beginning  to  tell  upon 
clothing;  we  are  becoming  like  gypsies  in  rai- 
ment, as  well  as  color.  But  what  a  soul- 
satisfying  life  is  this  gypsy  ing!  We  possess 
the  world,  while  afloat  on  the  Ohio! 

There  are,  in  the  course  of  the  summer,  so 
many  sorts  of  people  traveling  by  the  river, — 
steamboat  passengers,  campers,  fishers,  house- 
50 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  51 

boat  folk,  and  what  not, — that  we  attract  little 
attention  of  ourselves,  but  Pilgrim  is  indeed  a 
curiosity  hereabout.  What  remarks  we  over- 
hear are  about  her, — "Honey  skiff,  that!" 
"Right  smart  skiff!"  "Good  skiff  for  her 
place,  but  no  good  fof  this  yere  river!"  and 
so  on.  She  is  a  lap-streak,  square-sterned 
craft,  of  white  cedar  three-eighths  of  an  inch 
thick;  fifteen  feet  in  length  and  four  of  beam; 
weighs  just  a  hundred  pounds;  comfortably 
holds  us  and  our  luggage,  with  plenty  of 
spare  room  to  move  about  in;  is  easily  pro- 
pelled, and  as  stanch  as  can  be  made.  Upon 
these  waters,  we  meet  nothing  like  her.  Not 
counting  the  curious  floating  boxes  and 
punts,  which  are  knocked  together  out  of 
driftwood,  by  boys  and  poor  whites,  and  are 
numerous  all  along  shore,  the  regulation 
Ohio  river  skiff  is  built  on  graceful  lines, 
but  of  inch  boards,  heavily  ribbed,  and  is  a 
sorry  weight  to  handle.  The  contention  is, 
that  to  withstand  the  swash  of  steamboat 
wakes  breaking  upon  the  shore,  and  the  rush 
of  drift  in  times  of  flood,  a  heavy  skiff  is  nec- 
essary; there  is  a  tendency  to  decry  Pilgrim 
as  a  plaything,  unadapted  to  the  great  river. 
A  reasonable  degree  of  care  at  all  times,  how- 


52  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

ever,  and  keeping  the  boat  drawn  high  on  the 
beach  when  not  in  use, — such  care  as  we 
are  familiar  with  upon  our  Wisconsin  inland 
lakes, — would  render  the  employment  of  such 
as  she  quite  practicable,  and  greatly  lessen  the 
labor  of  rowing  on  this  waterway. 

The  houseboats,  dozens  of  which  we  see 
daily,  interest  us  greatly.  They  are  scows,  or 
"flats,"  greatly  differing  in  size,  with  low- 
ceilinged  cabins  built  upon  them — sometimes 
of  one  room,  sometimes  of  half  a  dozen,  and 
varying  in  character  from  a  mere  shanty  to  a 
well-appointed  cottage.  Perhaps  the  greater 
number  of  these  craft  are  afloat  in  the  river, 
and  moored  to  the  bank,  with  a  gang-plank 
running  to  shore;  others  are  "beached,"  hav- 
ing found  a  comfortable  nook  in  some  higher 
stage  of  water,  and  been  fastened  there, 
propped  level  with  timbers  and  driftwood. 
Among  the  houseboat  folk  are  young  working 
couples  starting  out  in  life,  and  hoping  ulti- 
mately to  gain  a  foothold  on  land;  unfortunate 
people,  who  are  making  a  fresh  start;  men 
regularly  employed  in  riverside  factories  and 
mills;  invalids,  who,  at  small  expense,  are 
trying  the  fresh-air  cure;  others,  who  drift  up 
and  down  the  Ohio,  seeking  casual  work;  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  53 

legitimate  fishermen,  who  find  it  convenient  to 
be  near  their  nets,  and  to  move  about  accord- 
ing to  the  needs  of  their  calling.  But  a  goodly 
proportion  of  these  boats  are  inhabited  by  the 
lowest  class  of  the  population, — poor  "crack- 
ers" who  have  managed  to  scrape  together 
enough  money  to  buy,  or  enough  energy  and 
driftwood  to  build,  such  a  craft;  and,  near  or 
at  the  towns,  many  are  occupied  by  gamblers, 
illicit  liquor  dealers,  and  others  who,  while 
plying  nefarious  trades,  make  a  pretense  of 
following  the  occupation  of  the  Apostles. 

Houseboat  people,  whether  beached  or  afloat, 
pay  no  rent,  and  heretofore  have  paid  no  taxes. 
Kentucky  has  recently  passed,  more  as  a  police 
regulation  than  as  a  means  of  revenue,  an  act 
levying  a  State  tax  of  twenty-five  dollars  upon 
each  craft  of  this  character;  and  the  other 
commonwealths  abutting  upon  the  river  are 
considering  the  policy  of  doing  likewise.  The 
houseboat  men  have,  however,  recently  formed 
a  protective  association,  and  propose  to  fight 
the  new  laws  on  constitutional  grounds,  the 
contention  being  that  the  Ohio  is  a  national 
highway,  and  that  commerce  upon  it  cannot 
be  hampered  by  State  taxes.  This  view  does 
not,  however,  affect  the  taxability  of  '  'beached" 


54  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

boats,   which  are  clearly  squatters  on   State 
soil. 

Both  in  town  and  country,  the  riffraff  of 
the  houseboat  element  are  in  disfavor.  It  is 
not  uncommon  for  them,  beached  or  tied  up, 
to  remain  unmolested  in  one  spot  for  years, 
with  their  pigs,  chickens,  and  little  garden 
patch  about  them,  mayhap  a  swarm  or  two  of 
bees,  and  a  cow  enjoying  free  pasturage  along 
the  weedy  bank  or  on  neighboring  hills.  Oc- 
casionally, however,  as  the  result  of  spasmodic 
local  agitation,  they  are  by  wholesale  ordered 
to  betake  themselves  to  some  more  hospitable 
shore;  and  not  a  few  farmers,  like  our  friend 
at  Beaver  River,  are  quick  to  pattern  after  the 
city  police,  and  order  their  visitors  to  move  on 
the  moment  they  seek  a  mooring.  For  the 
truth  is,  the  majority  of  those  who  ' '  live  on 
the  river,"  as  the  phrase  goes,  have  the  repu- 
tation of  being  pilferers;  farmers  tell  sad  tales 
of  despoiled  chicken-roosts  and  vegetable  gar- 
dens. From  fishing,  shooting,  collecting  chance 
driftwood,  and  leading  a  desultory  life  along 
shore,  like  the  wreckers  of  old  they  naturally 
fall  into  this  thieving  habit.  Having  neither 
rent  nor  taxes  to  pay,  and  for  the  most  part 
not  voting,  and  having  no  share  in  the  polit- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  55 

ical  or  social  life  of  landsmen,  they  are  in  the 
State,  yet  not  of  it, — a  class  unto  themselves, 
whose  condition  is  well  worthy  the  study  of 
economists. 

Interspersed  with  the  houseboat  folk,  al- 
though of  different  character,  are  those  whose 
business  leads  them  to  dwell  as  nomads  upon 
the  river — merchant  peddlers,  who  spend  a 
day  or  two  at  some  rustic  landing,  while  scour- 
ing the  neighborhood  for  oil-barrels  and  junk, 
which  the)'  load  in  great  heaps  upon  the  flat 
roofs  of  their  cabins,  giving  therefor,  at  goodly 
prices,  groceries,  crockery,  and  notions, — 
often  bartering  their  wares  for  eggs  and  dairy 
products,  to  be  disposed  of  to  passing  steam- 
ers, whose  clerks  in  turn  "pack"  them  for  the 
largest  market  on  their  route;  blacksmiths, 
who  moor  their  floating  shops  to  country  beach 
or  village  levee,  wherever  business  can  be  had; 
floating  theaters  and  opera  companies,  with 
large  barges  built  as  play-houses,  towed  from 
town  to  town  by  their  gaudily-painted  tugs,  on 
which  may  occasionally  be  perched  the  vocif- 
erous "steam  piano"  of^  our  circus  days, 
' '  whose  soul-stirring  music  can  be  heard  for 
four  miles;"  traveling  sawyers,  with  old  steam- 
boats made  over  into  sawmills,  employed  by 


56  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

farmers  to  "work  up"  into  lumber  such  logs 
as  they  can  from  time  to  time  bring  down  to 
the  shore — the  product  being  oftenest  used  in 
the  neighborhood,  but  occasionally  rafted,  and 
floated  to  the  nearest  large  town;  and  a  mis- 
cellaneous lot  of  traveling  craftsmen  who  live 
and  work  afloat, — chairmakers,  upholsterers, 
feather  and  mattress  renovators,  photogra- 
phers,— who  land  at  the  villages,  scatter  abroad 
their  advertising  cards,  and  stay  so  long  as  the 
ensuing  patronage  warrants. 

A  motley  assortment,  these  neighbors  of  ours, 
an  uncultivated  field  for  the  fiction  writers. 
We  have  struck  up  acquaintance  with  many 
of  them,  and  they  are  not  bad  fellows,  as  the 
world  goes.  Philosophers  all,  and  loquacious 
to  a  degree.  But  they  cannot,  for  the  life  of 
them,  fathom  the  mystery  of  our  cruise.  We 
are  not  in  trade?  we  are  not  fishing?  we 
are  not  canvassers?  we  are  not  show-people? 
"What  'n 'tarnation  air  ye,  anny  way?  Oh, 
come  now!  No  fellers  is  do'n'  th'  river  fur 
fun,  that's  sartin — ye're  jist  gov'm'nt  agints! 
Thet's  my  way  o'  think'n'.  Well,  'f  ye  kin 
find  fun  in  't,  then  done  go  ahead,  I  say!  But 
all  same,  we'll  be  friends,  won't  we?  Yew  bet, 
strangers!  Ye're  welcome  t'  all  in  this  yere 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  5T 

shanty  boat — ain't  no  bakky  'bout  yer  close, 
yew  fellers?"  We  meet  with  abundant  cour- 
tesy of  this  rude  sort,  and  weaponless  sleep 
well  o'  nights,  fearing  naught  from  our  comrades 
for  the  nonce. 

We  again  have  railways  on  either  bank. 
The  iron  horse  has  almost  eclipsed  the  "fire 
canoe,"  as  the  Indians  picturesquely  styled  the 
steamboat.  We  occasionally  see  boats  tied 
up  to  the  wharves,  evidently  not  in  commission; 
but,  in  actual  operation,  we  seldom  meet  or 
pass  over  one  or  two  daily.  To  be  sure,  the 
low  stage  of  water, — from  six  to  eight  feet 
thus  far,  and  falling  daily, — and  the  coal  strike, 
militate  against  navigation  interests.  But  the 
truth  is,  there  is  very  little  business  now  left 
for  steamboats,  beyond  the  movement  of  coal, 
stone,  bricks,  and  other  bulky  material,  some 
way  freight,  and  a  light  passenger  traffic.  The 
railroads  are  quicker  and  surer,  and  of  course 
competition  lowers  the  charges. 

The  heavy  manufacturing  interests  along  the 
river  now  depend  little  upon  the  steamers, 
although  originally  established  here  because 
of  them.  I  asked  our  friend,  the  superinten- 
dent at  Mingo,  what  advantage  was  gained  by 
having  his  plant  upon  the  river.  He  replied: 


58  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

"We  can  get  all  the  water  we  want,  and  we 
use  a  great  deal  of  it;  and  it  is  convenient  to 
empty  our  slag  upon  the  banks;  but  our  chief 
interest  here  is  in  the  fact  that  Mingo  is  a  rail- 
way junction. "  By  rail  he  gets  his  coal  and 
ore,  and  ships  away  his  product.  Were  the 
coal  to  come  a  considerable  distance,  the  river 
would  be  the  cheaper  road;  but  it  is  obtained 
from  neighboring  hill  mines  that  are  practically 
owned  by  the  railways.  This  coal,  by  the 
way,  costs  $1.10  at  the  shaft  mouth,  and 
$1.75  landed  at  the  Mingo  works.  As  for  the 
sewer-pipe,  brick,  and  pottery  works,  they  are 
along  stream  because  of  the  great  beds  of  clay 
exposed  by  the  erosion  of  the  river. 

It  is  fortunate  for  the  stability  of  these 
towns,  that  the  Ohio  flows  along  the  trans- 
continental pathway  westward,  so  that  the 
great  railway  lines  may  serve  them  without 
deflection  from  their  natural  course.  Had 
the  great  stream  flowed  south  instead  of  west, 
the  industries  of  the  valley  doubtless  would 
gradually  have  been  removed  to  the  transverse 
highways  of  the  new  commerce,  save  where 
these  latter  crossed  the  river,  and  thus  have 
left  scores  of  once  thriving  communities  mere 
'longshore  wrecks  of  their  former  selves.  This 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  59 

is  not  possible,  now.  The  steamboat  traffic 
may  still  further  waste,  until  the  river  is  no 
longer  serviceable  save  as  a  continental  drain- 
age ditch;  but,  chiefly  because  of  its  railways, 
the  Ohio  Valley  will  continue  to  be  the  seat 
of  an  industrial  population  which  shall  wax  fat 
upon  the  growth  of  the  nation's  needs. 

By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  we  were  at 
Wheeling  (91  miles).  The  town  has  fifty 
thousand  inhabitants,  is  substantially  built,  of 
a  distinctly  Southern  aspect;  well  stretched 
out  along  the  river,  but  narrow;  with  gaunt, 
treeless,  gully-washed  hills  of  clay  rising  ab- 
ruptly behind,  giving  the  place  a  most  forbid- 
ding appearance  from  the  water.  There  are 
several  fine  bridges  spanning  the  Ohio;  and 
Wheeling  Creek,  which  empties  on  the  lower 
edge  of  town,  is  crossed  by  a  maze  of  steel 
spans  and  stone  arches;  the  well-paved  wharf, 
sloping  upward  from  the  Ohio,  is  nearly  as 
broad  and  imposing  as  that  of  Pittsburg;* 
houseboats  are  here  by  the  score,  some  of  them 

*Upon  the  Ohio  and  kindred  rivers,  the  terra  "wharf" 
applies  to  the  river  beach  when  graded  and  paved,  ready  for 
the  reception  of  steamers.  Such  a  wharf  must  not  be  con- 
founded with  a  lake  or  seaside  wharf,  a  staging  projected  into 
the  water, 


60  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

the  haunts  of  fishing  clubs,  as  we  judge  from 
the  names  emblazoned  on  their  sides — "  Mys- 
tic Crew,"  "South  Side  Club,"  and  the  like. 

For  the  first  time  upon  our  tour,  negroes 
are  abundant  upon  the  streets  and  lounging 
along  the  river  front.  They  vary  in  color  from 
yellow  to  inky  blackness,  and  in  raiment  from 
the  ' '  dude, "  smart  in  straw  hat,  collars  and 
cuffs,  and  white-frilled  shirt  with  glass-dia- 
mond pin,  to  the  steamboat  roustabout,  all 
slouch  and  rags,  and  evil-eyed. 

Wheeling  Island  (300  acres),  up  to  thirty 
years  ago  mentioned  in  travelers'  journals  as  a 
rare  beauty-spot,  is  to-day  thick-set  with  cot- 
tages of  factory  hands  and  small  villas,  and 
commonplace;  while  smoky  Bridgeport,  oppo- 
site on  the  Ohio  side,  was  from  our  vantage- 
point  a  mere  smudge  upon  the  landscape. 

Wheeling  Creek  is  famous  in  Western  his- 
tory. The  three  Zane  brothers,  Ebenezer, 
Jonathan  and  Silas, — typical,  old-fashioned 
names  these,  bespeaking  the  God-fearing, 
Bible-loving,  Scotch-Presbyterian  stock  from 
which  sprang  so  large  a  proportion  of  trans- 
Alleghany  pioneers, — explored  this  region  as 
early  as  1 769,  built  cabins,  and  made  improve- 
ments— Silas  at  the  forks  of  the  creek,  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  61 

Ebenezer  and  Jonathan  at  the  mouth.  Dur- 
ing three  or  four  years,  it  was  a  hard  fight 
between  them  and  the  Indians;  but,  though 
several  times  driven  from  the  scene,  the  Zane 
brothers  stubbornly  reappeared,  and  rebuilt 
their  burned  habitations. 

Before  the  Revolutionary  War  broke  out, 
the  fortified  home  of  the  Zanes,  at  the  creek 
mouth,  was  a  favorite  stopping  stage  in  the 
savage-haunted  wilderness;  and  many  a  trav- 
eler in  those  early  days  has  left  us  in  his  journal 
a  thankful  account  of  his  tarrying  here.  The 
Zane  stockade  developed  into  Fort  Fincastle, 
in  Lord  Dunmore's  time;  then,  Fort  Henry, 
during  the  Revolution;  and  everyone  who 
knows  his  Western  history  at  all  has, read  of 
the  three  famous  sieges  of  Wheeling  (1777, 
1781,  and  1782),  and  the  daring  deeds  of  its 
men  and  women,  which  help  illumine  the 
pages  of  border  annals.  Finally,  by  1784,  the 
fort  at  Wheeling,  that  had  never  surrendered, 
was  demolished  as  no  longer  necessary,  for  the 
wall  of  savage  resistance  was  now  pushed  far 
westward.  Wheeling  had  become  the  western 
end  of  a  wagon  road  across  the  Panhandle, 
from  Redstone,  and  here  were  fitted  out  many 
flatboat  expeditions  for  the  lower  Ohio;  later, 


62  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

in  steamboat  days,  the  shallow  water  of  the 
upper  river  caused  Wheeling  to  be  in  midsum- 
mer the  highest  port  attainable;  and  to  this 
day  it  holds  its  ground  as  the  upper  terminus 
of  several  steamboat  lines. 

Below  Wheeling  are  several  miles  of  factory 
towns  nestled  by  the  strand,  and  numerous 
coal  tipples,  with  their  begrimed  villages. 
Fishermen  have  been  frequent  to-day,  in 
houseboats  of  high  and  low  degree,  and  in 
land  camps  composed  of  tents  and  board  shan- 
ties, with  rows  of  seines  and  tarred  pound-nets 
stretched  in  the  sun  to  dry;  tow-headed  chil- 
dren abound,  almost  as  nude  as  the  pigs  and 
dogs  and  chickens  amongst  which  they  waddle 
and  rojl;  women-folk  busy  themselves  with 
the  multifarious  cares  of  horne-keeping,  while 
their  lords  are  in  shady  nooks  mending  nets, 
or  listlessly  examining  trout  lines  which  ap- 
pear to  yield  but  empty  hooks;  they  tell  us 
that  when  the  river  is  falling,  fish  bite  not,  and 
yet  they  serenely  angle  on,  dreaming  their 
lives  away. 

A  half  mile  above  Big  Grave  Creek  (101 
miles),  we,  too,  hurry  into  camp  on  a  shelving 
bank  of  sand,  deep-fringed  with  willows;  for 
over  the  western  hills  thunder-clouds  are  rising, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  63 

with  wind  gusts.  Level  fields  stretch  back  of 
us  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  to  the  hills  which 
bound  the  bottom;  at  our  front  door  majes- 
tically rolls  the  growing  river,  perhaps  a  third 
of  a  mile  in  width,  black  with  the  reflection  of 
the  sky,  and  wrinkled  now  and  then  with 
squalls  which  scurry  over  its  bubbling  surface.  * 
The  storm  does  not  break,  but  the  bending 
tree-tops  crone,  and  toads  innumerable  rend 
the  air  with  their  screaming  whistles.  We 
had  great  ado,  during  the  cooking  of  dinner, 
to  prevent  them  from  hopping  into  our  little 
stove,  as  it  gleamed  brightly  in  the  early  dusk ; 
and  have  adopted  special  precautions  to  keep 
them  from  the  tent,  as  they  jump  about  in  the 
tall  grass,  appeasing  their  insectivorous  ap- 
petites. 

*  It  was  in  this  neighborhood,  a  mile  or  two  above  our 
camp,  where  the  bottom  is  narrower,  that  Capt.  William 
Foreman  and  twenty  other  Virginia  militiamen  were  killed 
in  an  Indian  ambuscade,  Sept.  27,  1777.  An  inscribed  stone 
monument  was  erected  on  the  spot  in  1835,  but  we  could  not 
find  it. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  BIG  GRAVE — WASHINGTON,  AND  ROUND 
BOTTOM — A  LAZY  MAN'S  PARADISE — CAP- 
TINA  CREEK — GEORGE  ROGERS  CLARK  AT 
FISH  CREEK — SOUTHERN  TYPES. 

NEAR  FISHING  CREEK,  Friday,  May  nth. 
— There  had  been  rain  during  the  night,  with 
fierce  wind  gusts,  but  during  breakfast  the 
atmosphere  quieted,  and  we  had  a  genial, 
semi-cloudy  morning. 

Off  at  8  o'clock,  Pilgrim's  crew  were  soon 
exploring  Moundsville.  There  are  five  thou- 
sand people  in  this  old,  faded,  countrified 
town.  They  show  you  with  pride  the  State 
Penitentiary  of  West  Virginia,  a  solemn-look- 
ing pile  of  dark  gray  stone,  with  the  feeble 
battlements  and  towers  common  to  American 
prison  architecture.  But  the  chief  feature  of 
the  place  is  the  great  Indian  mound — the  "  Big 
Grave  "of  early  chroniclers.  This  earthwork 
is  one  of  the  largest  now  remaining  in  the 
United  States,  being  sixty-eight  feet  high  and 
64 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  65 

a  hundred  in  diameter  at  the  base,  and  has  for 
over  a  century  attracted  the  attention  of  trav- 
elers and  archaeologists. 

We  found  it  at  the  end  of  a  straggling  street, 
on  the  edge  of  the  town,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
back  from  the  river.  Around  the  mound  has 
been  left  a  narrow  plat  of  ground,  utilized  as 
a  cornfield;  and  the  stout  picket  fence  which 
encloses  it  bears  peremptory  notice  that  ad- 
mission is  forbidden.  However,  as  the  pro- 
prietor was  not  easily  accessible,  we  exercised 
the  privilege  of  historical  pilgrims,  and,  letting 
ourselves  in  through  the  gate,  picked  our  way 
through  rows  of  corn,  and  ascended  the  great 
cone.  It  is  covered  with  a  heavy  growth  of 
white  oaks,  some  of  them  three  feet  in  diam- 
eter, among  which  the  path  picturesquely 
zigzags.  The  summit  is  fifty-five  feet  in  diam- 
eter, and  the  center  somewhat  depressed,  like 
a  basin.  From  the  middle  of  this  basin  a 
shaft  some  twenty-five  feet  in  diameter  has 
been  sunk  by  explorers,  for  a  distance  of  per- 
haps fifty  feet;  at  one  time,  a  level  tunnel 
connected  the  bottom  of  this  shaft  with  the 
side  of  the  cone,  but  it  has  been  mostly  oblit- 
erated. A  score  of  years  ago,  tunnel  and  shaft 
were  utilized  as  the  leading  attractions  of  a 
5 


66  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

beer  garden — to  such  base  uses  may  a  great 
historical  landmark  descend! 

Dickens,  who  apparently  wrote  the  greater 
part  of  his  American  Notes  while  suffering 
from  dyspepsia,  has  a  note  of  appreciation  for 
the  Big  Grave:  ".  .  .  the  host  of  Indians  who 
lie  buried  in  a  great  mound  yonder — so  old  that 
mighty  oaks  and  other  forest  trees  have  struck 
their  roots  into  its  earth;  and  so  high  that  it 
is  a  hill,  even  among  the  hills  that  Nature 
planted  around  it.  The  very  river,  as  though 
it  shared  one's  feelings  of  compassion  for  the 
extinct  tribes  who  lived  so  pleasantly  here,  in 
their  blessed  ignorance  of  white  existence, 
hundreds  of  years  ago,  steals  out  of  its  way  to 
ripple  near  this  mound;  and  there  are  few 
places  where  the  Ohio  sparkles  more  brightly 
than  in  the  Big  Grave  Creek. " 

There  is  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  just 
below  Moundsville,  with  Dillon's  Bottom 
stretching  long  and  wide  at  the  apex  on  the 
Ohio  shore — flat  green  fields,  dotted  with  little 
white  farmsteads,  each  set  low  in  its  apple 
grove,  and  a  convoluted  wall  of  dark  hills 
hemming  them  in  along  the  northern  horizon. 
Then  below  this  comes  Round  Bottom,  its 
counterpart  on  the  West  Virginia  side,  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  67 

coursing  through  it  a  pretty  meadow  creek, 
Butler's  Run. 

Writes  Washington,  in  1781,  to  a  corre- 
spondent who  is  thinking  of  renting  lands  in 
this  region:  "  I  have  a  small  tract  called  the 
round  bottom  containing  about  600  Acres, 
which  would  also  let.  It  lyes  on  the  Ohio, 
opposite  to  pipe  Creek,  and  a  little  above  Cap- 
teening."  Across  the  half  mile  of  river  are 
the  little  levels  and  great  slopes  of  the  Ohio 
hills,  through  which  breaks  this  same  Pipe 
Creek;  and  hereabout  Cresap's  band  murdered 
a  number  of  inoffensive  Shawanese,  a  tragedy 
which  was  one  of  the  inciting  causes  of  Lord 
Dunmore's  War  (1774). 

We  crossed  over  into  Ohio,  and  pulled  up 
on  the  gravelly  spit  at  the  mouth  of  Pipe. 
While  the  others  were  botanizing  high  on  the 
mountain  side,  I  went  along  a  beach  path 
toward  a  group  of  whitewashed  cabins,  intent 
on  replenishing  the  canteen.  Upon  opening 
the  gate  of  one  of  them,  two  grizzly  dogs  came 
bounding  out,  threatening  to  test  the  strength 
of  my  corduroy  trousers.  The  proprietor  cau- 
tiously peered  from  a  window,  and,  much  to 
my  relief,  called  off  the  animals.  Satisfied, 
apparently,  that  I  was  not  the  visitor  he  ex- 


68  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

pected,  the  fellow  lounged  out  and  sat  upon 
the  steps,  where  I  joined  him.  He  was  a  tall, 
raw-boned,  loose-jointed  young  man,  with  a 
dirty,  buttonless  flannel  shirt  which  revealed 
a  hairy  breast;  upon  his  trousers  hung  a  variety 
of  patches,  in  many  stages  of  grease  and  de- 
crepitude; a  gray  slouch  hat  shaded  his  little 
fishy  eyes  and  hollow,  yellow  cheeks;  and  the 
snaky  ends  of  his  yellow  mustache  were  stiff 
with  accumulations  of  dried  tobacco  juice. 
His  fat,  waddling  wife,  in  a  greasy  black  gown, 
followed  with  bare  feet,  and,  arms  akimbo, 
listened  in  the  open  door. 

A  coal  company  owns'the  rocky  river  front, 
here  and  at  many  places  below,  and  lets  these 
cabins  to  the  poor- white  element,  so  numerous 
on  the  Ohio's  banks.  The  renter  is  privileged 
to  cultivate  whatever  land  he  can  clear  on  the 
rocky,  precipitous  slopes,  which  is  seldom 
more  than  half  an  acre  to  the  cabin;  and  he 
may,  if  he  can  afford  a  cow,  let  her  run  wild 
in  the  scrub.  The  coal  vein,  a  few  rods  back 
of  the  house,  is  only  a  few  inches  thick,  and 
poor  in  quality,  but  is  freely  resorted  to  by  the 
cotters.  He  worked  whenever  he  could  find 
a  job,  my  host  said — in  the  coal  mines  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  09 

quarries,  or  on  the  bottom  farms,  or  the  rail- 
road which  skirts  the  bank  at  his  feet. 

"But  I  tell  ye,  sir,  th' /talians  and  Hun- 
garians is  spoil'n'  this  yere  country  fur  white 
men;  'n'  I  do'n'  see  no  prospect  for  hits  be'n' 
better  till  they  get  shoved  out  uv  't!"  Yet  he 
said  that  life  wasn't  so  hard  here  as  it  was  in 
some  parts  he  had  heard  tell  of — the  climate 
was  mild,  that  he  "'lowed;"  a  fellow  could  go 
out  and  get  a  free  bucket  of  coal  from  the  hill- 
side "back  yon;"  he  might  get  all  the  "light 
wood  'n'  patchin'  stuff"  he  wanted,  from  the 
river  drift;  could,  when  he  "hankered  after 
'em,"  catch  fish  off  his  own  front-door  yard; 
and  pick  up  a  dollar  now  and  then  at  odd  jobs, 
when  the  rent  was  to  be  paid,  or  the.  "ol* 
woman  "  wanted  a  dress,  or  he  a  new  coat. 

This  is  clearly  the  lazy  man's  Paradise.  I 
do  not  remember  to  have  heard  that  the  South 
Sea  Islanders,  in  the  ante-missionary  days, 
had  an  easier  time  of  it  than  this.  What  new 
fortune  will  befall  my  friend  when  he  gets  the 
Italians  and  Hungarians  "shoved  out,"  and 
"things  pick  up  a  bit,"  I  cannot  conceive. 

A  pleasing  panorama  he  has  from  his  door- 
way— across  the  river,  the  fertile  fields  of 
Round  Bottom,  once  Washington's;  Captina 


70  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

Island,  just  below,  long  and  thickly-willowed, 
dreamily  afloat  in  a  glassy  sea,  reflecting  every 
change  of  light;  the  whole  girt  about  with  the 
wide  uplands  of  the  winding  valley,  and  over- 
head the  march  of  sunny  clouds. 

Captina  Creek  (108  miles)  is  not  far  down 
on  the  Ohio  bank,  and  beside  it  the  little 
hamlet  of  Powhattan  Point,  with  the  West 
Virginia  hills  thereabout  exceptionally  high 
and  steep,  and  wooded  to  the  very  top.  Wash- 
ington, who  knew  the  Ohio  well,  down  to  the 
Great  Kanawha,  wrote  of  this  creek  in  1770: 
' '  A  pretty  large  creek  on  the  west  side,  called 
by  Nicholson  [his  interpreter]  Fox-Grape-Vine, 
by  others  Captema  creek,  on  which,  eight  miles 
up,  is  the  town  called  Grape-Vine  Town." 
Captina  village  is  its  white  successor.  But 
there  were  also  Indians  at  the  mouth  of  the 
creek;  for  when  George  Rogers  Clark  and  his 
missionary  companion,  Jones,  two  years  later 
camped  opposite  onrthe  Virginia  shore,  they 
went  over  to  make  a  morning  call  on  the  na- 
tives, who  repaid  it  in  the  evening,  doubtless 
each  time  receiving  freely  from  the  white  men's 
bounty. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  travelers 
remained  in  camp,  Jones  recording  in  his  jour- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  71 

nal  that  he  "instructed  what  Indians  came 
over."  In  the  course  of  his  prayer,  the  mis- 
sionary was  particularly  impressed  by  the  atti- 
tude of  the  chief  of  Grape-Vine  Town,  named 
Frank  Stephens,  who  professed  to  believe  in 
the  Christian  God;  and  he  naively  writes,  "I 
was  informed  that,  all  the  time,  the  Indians 
looked  very  seriously  at  me. "  Jones  appears 
to  have  been  impressed  also  with  the  hardness 
of  the  beach,  where  they  camped  in  the  open, 
doubtless  to  avoid  surprises:  "Instead  of 
feathers,  my  bed  was  gravel-stones,  by  the 
river  side  .  ££  „.  which  at  first  seemed  not 
to  suit  me,  but  afterward  it  became  more 
natural." 

In  those  days,  traveling  was  beset  with  diffi- 
culties, both  ashore  and  afloat.  Eight  years 
later  (spring  of  1780),  three  flatboats  were 
descending  the  Ohio,  laden  with  families  in- 
tending to  settle  in  Kentucky,  when  they  suf- 
fered a  common  fate,  being  attacked  by  Indians 
off  Captina  Creek.  Several  men  and  a  child 
were  killed,  and  twenty-one  persons  were  car- 
ried into  captivity — among  them,  Catherine 
Malott,  a  girl  in  her  teens,  who  subsequently 
became  the  wife  of  that  most  notorious  of  bor- 
der renegades,  Simon  Girty. 


72  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

On  the  West  Virginia  shore,  not  over  a  third 
of  a  mile  below  Captina  Creek,  empties  Grave 
Yard  Run,  a  modest  rivulet.  It  would  of  itself 
not  be  noticeable  amid  the  crowd  of  minor 
creeks  and  runs,  coursing  down  to  the  great 
river  through  rugged  ravines  which  corrugate 
the  banks.  But  it  has  a  history.  Here,  late 
in  October  or  early  in  November,  1772,  young 
George  Rogers  Clark  made  his  first  stake  west 
of  the  Alleghanies,  rudely  cultivating  a  few 
acres  of  forest  land  on  what  is  now  called 
Cresap's  Bottom,  surveying  for  the  neighbors, 
and  in  the  evenings  teaching  their  children  in 
the  little  log  cabin  of  his  friend,  Yates  Con- 
well,  at  the  mouth  of  Fish  Creek,  a  few  miles 
below.  Fish  Creek  was  in  itself  famous  as 
one  of  the  sections  of  the  great  Indian  trail, 
"The  Warrior  Branch,"  which,  starting  in 
Tennessee,  came  northward  through  Kentucky 
and  Southern  Ohio,  and,  proceeding  by  way 
of  this  creek,  crossed  over  to  Dunkard  Creek, 
thence  to  the  mouth  of  Redstone.  Wash- 
ington stopped  at  Conwell's  in  March  or  April, 
1774;  but  Clark  was  away  from  home  at  the 
time,  and  the  "Father  of  his  Country"  never 
met  the  man  who  has  been  dubbed  the  ' '  Wash- 
ington of  the  West."  Lord  Dunmore's  War 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  73 

was  hatching,  and  a  few  months  later  the  Fish 
Creek  surveyor  and  schoolmaster  had  entered 
upon  his  life  work  as  an  Indian  fighter. 

At  Bearsville  (126  miles)  we  first  meet  a 
phenomenon  common  to  the  Ohio — the  edges 
of  the  alluvial  bottom  being  higher  than  the 
fields  back  of  them,  forming  a  natural  levee, 
above  which  curiously  rise  to  our  view  the 
spires  and  chimneys  of  the  village.  Harris' 
Journal  (1803)  made  early  note  of  this,  and 
advanced  an  acceptable  theory:  "We  fre- 
quently remarked  that  the  banks  are  higher  at 
the  margin  than  at  a  little  distance  back.  I 
account  for  it  in  this  manner:  Large  trees, 
which  are  brought  down  the  river  by  the  inun- 
dations, are  lodged  upon  the  borders  of  the 
bank,  but  cannot  be  floated  far  upon  the 
champaign,  because  obstructed  by  the  growth 
of  wood.  Retaining  their  situation  when  the 
waters  subside,  they  obstruct  and  detain  the 
leaves  and  mud,  which  would  else  recoil  into 
the  stream,  and  thus,  in  process  of  time,  form 
a  bank  higher  than  the  interior  flats." 

Tied  up  to  Bearsville  landing  is  a  gayly 
painted  barge,  the  home  of  Price's  Floating 
Opera  Company,  and  in  front  its  towing- 
steamer,  "Troubadour."  A  steam  calliope  is 


74  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

part  of  the  visible  furniture  of  the  establish- 
ment, and  its  praises  as  a  noise-maker  are 
sung  in  large  type  in  the  handbills  which,  with 
numerous  colored  lithographs  of  the  perform- 
ers, adorn  the  shop  windows  in  the  neighboring 
river  towns. 

Two  miles  farther  down,  on  a  high  bank  at 
the  mouth  of  Fishing  Creek,  lies  New  Martins- 
ville,  West  Va.  (127  miles),  a  rather  shabby 
town  of  fifteen  hundred  souls.  As  W —  and 
I  passed  up  the  main  street,  seeking  for  a 
grocery,  we  noticed  that  the  public  hall  was 
being  decorated  for  a  dance  to  come  off  to- 
night; and  placards  advertising  the  event  were 
everywhere  rivaling  the  gaudy  prints  of  the 
floating  opera. 

Meanwhile,  a  talkative  native  was  inter- 
viewing the  Doctor,  down  at  the  river  side. 
It  required  some  good-natured  fencing  on  the 
part  of  our  skipper  to  prevent  the  Virginian 
from  learning  all  about  our  respective  families 
away  back  to  the  third  generation.  He  was 
a  short,  chubby  man,  with  a  Dixie  goatee,  his 
flannel  shirt  negligee,  and  a  wide-brimmed 
straw  hat  jauntily  set  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
He  was  sociable,  and  sat  astride  of  our  beached 
prow,  punctuating  his  remarks  with  squirts  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  75 

tobacco  juice,  and  a  bit  of  lath  with  which  he 
meditatively  tapped  the  gunwale,  the  mean- 
time, with  some  skill,  casting  pebbles  into  the 
water  with  his  bare  toes.  ' '  Ax'n  yer  pardon, 
ma'm!"  he  said,  scrambling  from  his  perch 
upon  W — 's  appearance;  and  then,  pushing  us 
off,  he  bowed  with  much  Southern  gallantry, 
and  hat  in  hand  begged  we  would  come  again 
to  New  Martinsville,  and  stay  longer. 

The  hills  lining  these  reaches  are  lower  than 
above,  yet  graceful  in  their  sweeping  lines. 
Conical  mounds  sometimes  surmount  them, 
relics  of  the  prehistoric  time  when  our  Indians 
held  to  the  curious  fashion  of  building  earth- 
works. We  no  longer  entertain  the  notion 
that  a  separate  and  a  prouder  race  of  wild 
men  than  we  know  erected  these  tumuli. 
That  pleasant  fiction  has  departed  from  us; 
but  the  works  are  none  the  less  interesting, 
now  that  more  is  known  of  their  origin. 

Two  miles  below  New  Martinsville,  on  the 
West  Virginia  shore,  we  pitch  camp,  just  as 
the  light  begins  to  sink  over  the  Ohio  hills. 
The  atmosphere  is  sweet  with  the  odor  of 
wild  grape  blossoms,  and  the  willow  also  is  in 
bloom.  Poison  ivy,  to  whose  baneful  touch 
fortunately  none  of  us  appear  susceptible,  grows 


76  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

everywhere  about.  From  the  farmhouse  on 
the  narrow  bottom  to  our  rear  comes  the  me- 
lodious tinkle-tinkle  of  cow  bells.  The  oper- 
atic calliope  is  in  full  blast,  at  Bearsville,  its 
shrieks  and  snorts  coming  down  to  us  through 
four  miles  of  space,  all  too  plainly  borne  by 
the  northern  breeze;  and  now  and  then  we 
hear  the  squeak  of  the  New  Martinsville  fiddles. 
There  are  no  mosquitoes  as  yet,  but  burly  May- 
chafers  come  stupidly  dashing  against  our  tent, 
and  the  toads  are  piping  merrily. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IN  DIXIE — OIL  AND  NATURAL  GAS,  AT  WIT- 
TEN'S  BOTTOM — THE  LONG  REACH — PHO- 
TOGRAPHING CRACKERS — VISITORS  IN  CAMP. 

ABOVE  MARIETTA,  Saturday,  May  i2th. — 
Since  the  middle  of  yesterday  afternoon  we 
have  been  in  Dixie, — that  is,  when  we  are  on 
the  West  Virginia  shore.  The  famous  Mason 
and  Dixon  Line  (lat.  39°  43'  26")  touches  the 
Ohio  at  the  mouth  of  Proctor's  Run  (121^ 
miles). 

There  was  a  heavy  fog  this  morning,  on 
land  and  river.  But  through  shifting  rifts 
made  by  the  morning  breeze,  we  had  kaleido- 
scopic, cloud-framed  pictures  of  the  dark,  jut- 
ting headlands  which  hem  us  in;  of  little  white 
cabins  clustered  by  the  country  road  which  on 
either  bank  crawls  along  narrow  terraces  be- 
tween overtopping  steeps  and  sprawling  beach, 
or  winds  through  fertile  bottoms,  according  to 
whether  the  river  approaches  or  recedes  from 
its  inclosing  bluffs;  of  hillside  fields,  tipped  at 
77 


78  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

various  angles  of  ascent,  sometimes  green  with 
springing  grain,  but  oftenest  gray  or  brown  or 
yellow,  freshly  planted, — charming  patches  of 
color,  in  this  somber-hued  world  of  sloping 
woodland. 

At  Williamson's  Island  (134  miles)  the  fog 
lifted.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odor  of 
petroleum.  All  about  us  were  the  ugly,  tow- 
ering derricks  of  oil  and  natural  gas  wells — 
Witten's  Bottom  on  the  right,  with  its  abutting 
hills;  the  West  Virginia  woods  across  the  river, 
and  the  maple-strewn  island  between,  all  cov- 
ered with  scaffolds.  The  country  looks  like  a 
rumpled  fox-and-geese  board,  with  pegs  stuck 
all  over  it.  A  mile  and  a  half  below  lies  Sis- 
tersville,  W.  Va. ,  the  emporium  of  this  greasy 
neighborhood — great  red  oil-tanks  and  smoky 
refineries  its  chief est  glory;  crude  and  raw,  like 
the  product  it  handles.  We  landed  at  Wit- 
ten's  Bottom, — W — ,  the  Boy,  and  I, — while 
the  Doctor,  philosophically  preferring  to  take 
the  oily  elephant  for  granted,  piloted  Pilgrim 
to  the  rendezvous  a  mile  below. 

Oil  was  "struck"  here  two  or  three  years 
ago,  and  now  within  a  distance  of  a  few  miles 
there  are  hundreds  of  wells — "two  hun'rd  in 
this  yere  gravel  alone,  sir!"  I  was  told  by  a 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  79 

red-headed  man  in  a  red  shirt,  who  lived  with 
his  numerous  family  in  a  twelve-foot-square 
box  at  the  rear  of  a  pumping  engine.  An  en- 
gine serves  several  wells, — the  tumbling-rods, 
rudely  boxed  in,  stretching  off  through  the 
fields  and  over  the  hills  to  wherever  needed. 
The  operatives  dwell  in  little  shanties  scattered 
conveniently  about;  in  front  of  each  is  a  ver- 
tical half-inch  pipe,  six  or  eight  feet  high, 
bearing  a  half  bushel  of  natural-gas  flame 
which  burns  and  tosses  night  and  day,  winter 
and  summer,  making  the  Bottom  a  warm  cor- 
ner of  the  earth,  when  the  unassisted  temper- 
ature is  in  the  eighties.  It  is  a  bewildering 
scene,  with  all  these  derricks  thickly  scattered 
around,  engines  noisily  puffing,  walking-beams 
forever  rearing  and  plunging,  the  country  cob- 
webbed  with  tumbling-rods  and  pipe  lines,  the 
shanties  of  the  operatives  with  their  rude  lamp- 
posts, and  the  face  of  Nature  so  besmeared 
with  the  crude  output  of  the  wells  that  every 
twig  and  leaf  is  thick  with  grease. 

Just  above  Witten's  commences  the  Long 
Reach  of  the  Ohio — a  charming  panorama,  for 
sixteen  and  a  half  miles  in  a  nearly  straight 
line  to  the  southwest.  Little  towns  line  the 
alternating  bottoms,  and  farmsteads  are  nu- 


80  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

merous  on  the  slopes.  But  they  are  rocky 
and  narrow,  these  gentle  shoulders  of  the  hills, 
and  a  poor  class  of  folk  occupy  them — half 
fishers,  half  farmers,  a  cross  between  my 
Round  Bottom  friend  and  the  houseboat  no- 
mads. 

A  picturesquely-dilapidated  log  house,  with 
whitewashed  porch  in  front,  and  a  vine  arbor 
at  the  rear,  attracted  our  attention  at  the  foot 
of  the  reach,  near  Grape  Island.  I  clambered 
up,  to  photograph  it.  The  ice  was  broken  by 
asking  for  a  drink  of  water.  A  gaunt  girl  of 
eighteen,  the  elder  of  two,  with  bare  feet,  her 
snaky  hair  streaming  unkempt  about  a  smirk- 
ing face,  went  with  a  broken-nosed  pitcher  to 
a  run,  which  could  be  heard  splashing  over  its 
rocky  bed  near  by.  The  meanwhile,  I  took  a 
seat  in  the  customary  arcade  between  the 
living  room  and  kitchen,  and  talked  with  her 
fat,  greasy,  red-nosed  father,  who  confided  to 
me  that  he  was  "a  pi'neer  from  way  back. " 
He  occupied  his  own  land — a  rare  circum- 
stance among  these  riverside  "crackers;"  had 
a  hundred  and  thirty  acres,  worth  twenty  dol- 
lars the  acre;  "jist  yon  ways,"  back  of  the 
house,  in  the  cliff-side,  there  was  a  coal  vein 
two  feet  thick,  as  yet  only  "worked"  for  his 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  81 

own  fuel;  and  lately,  he  had  struck  a  bank  of 
firebrick  clay  which  might  some  day  be  a 
"good  thing  for  th'  gals." 

On  leaving,  I  casually  mentioned  my  desire 
to  photograph  the  family  on  the  porch,  where 
the  light  was  good.  While  I  walked  around 
the  house  outside,  they  passed  through  the 
front  room,  which  seemed  to  be  the  common 
dormitory  as  well  as  parlor.  To  my  surprise 
and  chagrin,  the  girls  and  their  dowdy  mother 
had,  in  those  brief  moments  of  transition,  con- 
trived to  arrange  their  hair  and  dress  to  a  de- 
gree which  took  from  them  all  those  picturesque 
qualities  with  which  they  had  been  invested  at 
the  time  of  my  arrival.  The  father  was  being 
reproved,  as  he  emerged  upon  the  porch,  for 
not  "slick'n*  his  ha'r,  and  wash'n'  and  fix'n' 
up,  afore  hav'n'  his  pictur'  taken;"  but  the  old 
fellow  was  obdurate,  and  joined  me  in  remon- 
strance against  this  transformation  to  the  com-1 
monplace,  on  the  part  of  his  women-folk. 
However,  there  was  no  profit  in  arguing  with 
them,  and  I  took  my  snap-shot  with  a  con- 
viction that  the  film  was  being  wasted. 

We  were  in  several  small  towns  to-day,  in 
pursuance  of  the  policy  of  distributing  our 
shopping,  so  as  to  see  as  much  of  the  shore 
6 


82  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

life  as  practicable.  Chief  among  them  have 
been  New  Matamoras  (141  miles)  and  St. 
Mary's  (154  miles),  in  West  Virginia,  and 
Newport,  in  Ohio  (155  miles).  Rather  dingy 
villages,  these — each,  after  their  kind,  with  a 
stone  wharf  thick-grown  with  weeds;  a  flour- 
ing mill  at  the  head  of  the  landing;  a  few 
cheap-looking,  battlemented  stores;  boys  and 
men  lounging  about  with  that  air  of  comfort- 
able idling  which  impresses  one  as  the  main 
characteristic  of  rustic  hamlets,  where  nobody 
seems  ever  to  have  anything  to  do;  a  ferry 
running  to  the  opposite  shore — for  cattle  and 
wagons,  a  heavy  flat,  with  railings,  made  to 
drift  with  the  current ;  and  for  foot  passengers, 
a  lumbering  skiff,  with  oars  chucking  noisily 
in  their  roomy  locks. 

Every  now  and  then  we  run  across  bunches 
of  oil  and  gas  wells;  and  great  signs,  like  those 
advertising  boards  which  greet  railway  trav- 
elers approaching  our  large  cities,  are  here  and 
there  perched  upon  the  banks,  notifying  steam- 
boat pilots,  in  letters  a  foot  high,  that  a  pipe 
line  here  crosses  the  river,  the  vicinity  being 
consequently  unsafe  for  mooring. 

Our  camp,  to-night,  is  on  a  bit  of  grassy 
ledge  at  the  summit  of  a  rocky  bank,  ten  miles 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  83 

above  Marietta,  on  the  Ohio  side.  A  rod  or 
so  back  of  us  is  the  country  road,  which  winds 
along  at  the  foot  of  a  precipitous  steep.  It  is 
narrow  quarters  here,  and  too  near  the  high- 
way for  comfort,  but  nothing  better  seemed  to 
offer  at  the  time  we  needed  it;  and  the  outlook 
is  pleasant,  through  the  fringing  oaks  and  elms, 
across  the  broad  river  into  West  Virginia. 

We  had  not  yet  pitched  tent,  and  all  hands 
were  still  clambering  over  the  rocks  with  Pil- 
grim's cargo,  rather  glad  that  there  was  no 
more  of  it,  when  our  first  camp- bore  ap- 
peared— a  middling-sized  man,  florid  as  to 
complexion,  with  a  mustache  and  goatee,  and 
in  a  suit  of  seedy  black,  surmounted  by  a 
crushed-in  Derby  hat;  and,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  country,  giving  evidence,  on  his  collar- 
less  white  shirt,  of  a  free  use  of  chewing  to- 
bacco. I  have  seldom  met  a  fellow  with  better 
staying  qualities.  He  was  a  strawberry  grower, 
he  said,  and  having  been  into  Newport,  a  half 
dozen  miles  up  river,  was  walking  to  his  home, 
which  was  a  mile  or  two  off  in  the  hills.  Would 
we  object  if,  for  a  few  moments,  he  tarried 
here  by  the  roadside?  and  perhaps  we  could 
accommodate  him  with  a  drink  of  water?  Pa- 
tiently did  he  watch  the  preparation  of  dinner, 


84  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

and  spice  each  dish  with  commendations  of 
W — 's  skill  at  making  the  most  of  her  few 
utensils. 

Right  glibly  he  chattered  on;  now  about  the 
decadence  of  womankind;  now  about  straw- 
berry-growing upon  these  Ohio  hills — with  the 
crop  just  coming  on,  and  berries  selling  at  a 
shilling  to-day,  in  Marietta,  when  they  ought 
to  be  worth  twenty  cents;  now  on  politics,  and 
of  course  he  was  a  Populist;  now  on  the  hard 
times,  and  did  we  believe  in  free  silver?  He 
would  take  no  bite  with  us,  but  sat  and  talked 
and  talked,  despite  plain  hints,  growing  plainer 
with  the  progress  of  time,  that  his  family  needed 
him  at  nightfall.  Dinner  was  eaten,  and  dishes 
washed;  the  others  left  on  a  botanical  round- 
up, and  I  produced  my  writing  materials,  with 
remarks  upon  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  At 
last  our  guest  arose,  shook  the  grass  from  his 
clothes,  with  a  shake  of  hands  bade  me  good- 
night, wishing  me  to  convey  his  "good-bye" 
to  the  rest  of  our  party,  and  as  politely  as  pos- 
sible expressed  the  great  pleasure  which  the 
visit  had  given  him. 

Some  farmer  boys  came  down  the  hillside 
to  fish  at  the  bank,  and  talked  pleasantly  of 
their  work  and  of  the  ever-changing  phases  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  86 

the  river.  Other  farmers  passed  our  roadside 
door,  in  wagons,  on  buckboards,  by  horseback, 
and  on  foot;  in  neighborly  tone,  but  with  ill- 
disguised  curiosity  in  their  eyes,  wishing  me 
good  evening.  When  the  long  twilight  was 
almost  gone,  and  the  moon  an  hour  high  over 
the  purple  dusk  of  the  West  Virginia  hills,  the 
botanists  returned,  aglow  with  their  exercise, 
and  rich  with  trophies  of  blue  and  dwarf  lark- 
spur, pink  and  white  stone-crop,  trailing  ar- 
butus, and  great  laurel. 

And  then,  as  we  were  preparing  to  retire,  a 
sleek  and  dapper  fellow,  though  with  clothes 
rather  the  worse  for  wear,  came  trudging  along 
the  road  toward  Marietta.  Seeing  our  camp, 
he  asked  for  a  drink.  Being  apparently  dis- 
posed to  tarry,  the  Doctor,  to  get  him  started, 
offered  to  walk  a  piece  with  him.  Our  com- 
rade staid  out  so  long,  that  at  last  I  went  down 
the  road  in  search  of  him,  and  found  the  pair 
sitting  on  a  moonlit  bank,  as  cozily  as  if  they 
had  been  always  friends.  The  stranger  had 
revealed  to  the  Doctor  that  he  was  a  street 
fakir,  "by  perfesh,"  and  had  "struck  it  rich" 
in  Chicago  during  the  World's  Fair,  but  some- 
how had  lost  the  greater  part  of  his  gains,  and 
was  now  associated  with  his  brother,  who  had 


86  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

a  junk-boat;  the  brother  was  "well  heeled," 
and  staid  and  kept  store  at  the  boat,  while 
the  fakir,  as  the  walking  partner,  "rustled 
'round  'mong  th'  grangers,  to  stir  up  trade. " 
The  Doctor  had,  in  their  talk,  let  slip  some- 
thing about  certain  Florida  experiences,  and 
when  I  arrived  on  the  scene  was  being  skillfully 
questioned  by  his  companion  as  to  the  proba- 
bilities of  "a  feller  o'  my  perfesh  ketch'n'  on, 
down  thar?"  The  result  of  this  pumping  pro- 
cess must  have  been  satisfactory;  for  when  we 
parted  with  him,  the  fakir  declared  he  was 
"go'n'  try  't  on  thar,  next  winter,  'f  I  bust  me 
bottom  dollar!" 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

LIFE  ASHORE  AND  AFLOAT — MARIETTA,  "THE 
PLYMOUTH  RCCK  OF  THE  WEST" — THE 
LITTLE  KANAWHA — THE  STORY  OF  BLEN- 
NERHASSETT'S  ISLAND. 

BLENNERHASSETT'S  ISLAND,  Sunday,  May 
1 3th. — The  day  broke  without  fog,  at  our 
camp  on  the  rocky  steep  above  Marietta.  The 
eastern  sky  was  veiled  with  summer  clouds,  all 
gayly  flushed  by  the  rising  sun,  and  in  the 
serene  silence  of  the  morning  there  hung  the 
scent  of  dew,  and  earth,  and  trees.  In  the 
east,  the  distant  edges  of  the  West  Virginia 
hills  were  aglow  with  the  mounting  light  before 
it  had  yet  peeped  over  into  the  river  trough, 
where  a  silvery  haze  lent  peculiar  charm  to 
flood  and  bank.  Up  river,  one  of  the  Three 
Brothers  isles,  dark  and  heavily  forested, 
seemed  in  the  middle  ground  to  float  on  air. 
A  bewitching  picture  this,  until  at  last  the  sun 
sprang  clear  and  strong  above  the  fringing 
hills,  and  the  spell  was  broken. 
87 


88  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

The  steamboat  traffic  is  improving  as  we 
get  lower  down.  Last  evening,  between  land- 
ing and  bedtime,  a  half  dozen  passed  us,  up 
and  down,  breathing  heavily  as  dragons  might, 
and  leaving  behind  them  foamy  wakes  which 
loudly  broke  upon  the  shore.  Before  morn- 
ing, I  was  at  intervals  awakened  by  as  many 
more.  A  striking  spectacle,  the  passage  of  a 
big  river  steamer  in  the  night;  you  hear,  fast 
approaching,  a  labored  pant;  suddenly,  around 
the  bend,  or  emerging  from  behind  an  island, 
the  long  white  monster  glides  into  view, 
lanterns  gleaming  on  two  lines  of  deck,  her 
electric  searchlight  uneasily  flitting  to  and 
fro,  first  on  one  landmark,  then  on  another, 
her  engine  bell  sharply  clanging,  the  measured 
pant  developing  into  a  burly,  all-pervading 
roar,  which  gradually  declines  into  a  pant 
again — and  then  she  disappears  as  she  came, 
her  swelling  wake  rudely  ruffling  the  moonlit 
stream. 

We  caught  up  with  a  large  lumber  raft  this 
morning,  descending  from  Pittsburg  to  Cin- 
cinnati. The  half-dozen  men  in  charge  were 
housed  midway  in  a  rude  little  shanty,  and 
relieved  each  other  at  the  sweeps — two  at 
bow,  and  two  astern.  It  is  an  easy,  lounging 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  89 

life,  most  of  the  way,  with  some  difficulties  in 
the  shallows,  and  in  passing  beneath  the  great 
bridges.  They  travel  night  and  day,  except 
in  the  not  infrequent  wind-storms  blowing  up 
stream;  and  it  will  take  them  another  week  to 
cover  the  three  hundred  miles  between  this 
and  their  destination.  Far  different  fellows, 
these  commonplace  raftsmen  of  to-day,  from 
the  "lumber  boys"  of  a  half-century  or  more 
ago,  when  the  river  towns  were  regularly 
"painted  red"  by  the  men  who  followed  the 
Ohio  by  raft  or  flatboat.  Life  along  shore 
was  then  more  picturesque  than  comfortable. 

Later,  we  stopped  on  the  Ohio  shore  to  chat 
with  a  group  of  farmers  having  a  Sunday  talk, 
their  seat  a  drift  log,  in  the  shade  of  a  willowed 
bank.  They  proved  to  be  market  gardeners 
and  fruit-growers — well-to-do  men  of  their 
class,  and  intelligent  in  conversation;  all  of 
them  descendants  of  the  sturdy  New  England  - 
ers  who  settled  these  parts. 

While  the  others  were  discussing  small  Traits 
with  these  transplanted  Yankees,  who  proved 
quite  as  full  of  curiosity  about  us  as  we  con- 
cerning them,  I  went  down  shore  a  hundred 
yards,  struggling  through  the  dense  fringe  of 
willows,  to  photograph  a  junk-boat  just  putting 


90  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

off  into  the  stream.  The  two  rough-bearded, 
merry-eyed  fellows  at  the  sweeps  were  setting 
their  craft  broadside  to  the  stream — that  "the 
current  might  have  more  holt  of  her,"  the  chief 
explained.  They  were  interested  in  the  kodak, 
and  readily  posed  as  I  wished,  but  wanted  to 
see  what  had  been  taken,  having  the  common 
notion  that  it  is  like  a  tintype  camera,  with 
results  at  once  attainable.  They  offered  our 
party  a  ride  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  if  we 
would  row  alongside  and  come  aboard,  but  I 
thanked  them,  saying  their  craft  was  too  slow 
for  our  needs;  at  which  they  laughed  heartily, 
and  ' '  'lowed  "  we  might  be  traders,  too,  anx- 
ious to  get  in  ahead  of  them — "but  there's 
plenty  o'  room  o'  th'  river,  for  yew  an'  we, 
stranger!  Well,  good  luck  to  yees!  We'll  see 
yer  down  below,  somewhar,  I  reckon!" 

Just  before  lunch,  we  were  at  Marietta,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Muskingum  (171  miles),  a 
fine  stream,  here  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
wide.  A  storied  river,  this  Muskingum.  We 
first  definitely  hear  of  it  in  1748,  the  year  the 
original  Ohio  Company  was  formed.  Celoron 
was  here  the  year  following,  with  his  little 
band  of  French  soldiers  and  Indians,  vainly 
endeavoring  to  turn  English  traders  out  of  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO    "  91 

Ohio  Valley.  Christopher  Gist  came,  some 
months  later;  then  the  trader  Croghan,  for 
"Old  Wyandot  Town,"  the  Indian  village  at 
the  mouth,  was  a  noted  center  in  Western  forest 
traffic.  Moravian  missionaries  appeared  in  due 
time,  establishing  on  the  banks  of  the  Mus- 
kingum  the  ill-fated  convert  villages  of  Schb'n- 
brunn,  Gnadenhiitten,  and  Salem.  In  1785, 
Fort  Harmar  was  reared  on  the  site  of  Wyan- 
dot Town.  Lastly,  in  the  early  spring  of  1788, 
came,  in  Ohio  river  flatboats,  that  famous  body 
of  New  England  veterans  of  the  Revolution, 
under  Gen.  Rufus  Putnam,  and  planted  Mari- 
etta— "the  Plymouth  Rock  of  the  West." 

We  smile  at  these  Ohio  pilgrims,  for  digni- 
fying the  hills  which  girt  in  the  Marietta  bot- 
tom, with  the  names  of  the  seven  on  which 
Rome  is  said  to  be  built — for  having  a  Campus 
Martius  and  a  Sacra  Via,  and  all  that,  out 
here  among  the  sycamore  stumps  and  the  wild 
Indians.  But  a  classical  revival  was  just  then 
vigorously  affecting  American  thought,  and  it 
would  have  been  strange  if  these  sturdy  New 
Englanders  had  not  felt  its  influence,  fresh 
as  they  were  from  out  the  shadows  of  Harvard 
and  Yale,  and  in  the  awesome  presence  of 
crowds  of  huge  monumental  earthworks,  whose 


92  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

age,  in  their  day,  was  believed  to  far  outdate 
the  foundations  of  the  Eternal  City  itself. 
They  loved  learning  for  learning's  sake;  and 
here,  in  the  log-cabins  of  Marietta,  eight  hun- 
dred miles  west  of  their  beloved  Boston,  among 
many  another  good  thing  they  did  for  poster- 
ity, they  established  the  principle  of  public 
education  ,at  public  cost,  as  a  national  prin- 
ciple. 

They  were  soldier  colonists.  Washington, 
out  of  a  full  heart,  for  he  dearly  loved  the 
West,  said  of  them:  "No  colony  in  America 
was  ever  settled  under  such  favorable  auspices 
as  that  which  has  just  commenced  at  the  Mus- 
kingum.  Information,  property,  and  strength 
will  be  its  characteristics.  I  know  many  of 
the  settlers  personally,  and  there  never  were 
men  better  calculated  to  promote  the  welfare 
of  such  a  community."  And  when,  in  1825, 
La  Fayette  had  read  to  him  the  list  of  Marietta 
pioneers, — nearly  fifty  military  officers  among 
them, — he  cried:  "I  know  them  all!  I  saw 
them  at  Brandywine,  Yorktown,  and  Rhode 
Island.  They  were  the  bravest  of  the  brave!" 

Yet,  for  a  long  time,  Marietta  met  with 
small  measure  of  success.  Miasma,  Indian 
ravages,  and  the  conservative  temperament  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  93 

the  people  combined  to  render  slow  the 
growth  of  this  Western  Plymouth.  There 
were,  for  a  time,  extensive  ship-building  yards 
here;  but  that  industry  gradually  declined, 
with  the  growth  of  railway  systems.  In  our 
day,  Marietta,  with  its  ten  thousand  inhab- 
itants, prospers  chiefly  as  a  market  town  and 
an  educational  center,  with  some  manufactur- 
ing interests.  We  were  struck  to-day,  as  we 
tarried  there  for  an  hour  or  two,  with  the  re- 
markable resemblance  it  has  in  public  and 
private  architecture,  and  in  general  tone,  to  a 
typical  New  England  town — say,  for  example, 
Burlington,  Vt.  Omitting  its  river  front,  and 
its  Mound  Cemetery,  Marietta  might  be  set 
bodily  down  almost  anywhere  in  Massachu- 
setts, or  Vermont,  or  Connecticut,  and  the 
chance  traveler  would  see  little  in  the  place 
to  remind  him  of  the  West.  I  know  of  no 
other  town  out  of  New  England  of  which  the 
same  might  be  said. 

Below  Marietta,  the  river  bottoms  are,  for 
miles  together,  edged  with  broad  stretches  of 
sloping  beach,  either  deep  with  sand  or  natu- 
rally paved  with  pebbles — sometimes  treeless, 
but  often  strewn  with  clumps  of  willow  and 
maple  and  scrub  sycamore.  The  hills,  now 


94  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

rounder,  less  ambitious,  and  more  widely  sep- 
arated, are  checkered  with  fields  and  forests, 
and  the  bottom  lands  are  of  more  generous 
breadth.  Pleasant  islands  stud  the  peaceful 
stream.  The  sylvan  foliage  has  by  this  time 
attained  very  nearly  its  fullest  size.  The  horse 
chestnut,  the  pawpaw,  the  grape,  and  the 
willow  are  in  bloom.  A  gentle  pastoral  scene 
is  this  through  which  we  glide. 

It  is  evident  that  it  would  be  a  scalding  day 
but  for  the  gentle  breeze  astern;  setting  sail, 
we  gladly  drop  our  oars,  and,  with  the  water 
rippling  at  our  prow,  sweep  blithely  down  the 
long  southern  reach  to  Parkersburg,  W.  Va. , 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Kanawha( 1 83  miles). 
In  the  full  glare  of  the  scorching  sun,  Parkers- 
burg  looks  harsh  and  dry.  But  it  is  well  built, 
and,  as  seen  from  the  river,  apparently  pros- 
perous. The  Ohio  is  here  crossed  by  the  once 
famous  million-dollar  bridge  of  the  Baltimore 
&  Ohio  railway.  The  wharf  is  at  the  junction 
of  the  two  streams,  but  chiefly  on  the  shore  of 
the  unattractive  Little  Kanawha,  which  is 
spanned  by  several  bridges,  and  abounds  in 
steamers  and  houseboats  moored  to  the  land. 
Clark  and  Jones  did  not  think  well  of  Little 
Kanawha  lands,  yet  there  were  several  families 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  95 

on  the  river  as  early  as  1763,  and  Trent, 
Croghan,  and  other  Fort  Pitt  fur-traders  had 
posts  here.  There  were  only  half-a-dozen 
houses  in  1800,  and  Parkersburg  itself  was  not 
laid  out  until  ten  years  later. 

Blennerhassett's  Island  lies  two  miles  be- 
low— a  broad,  dark  mass  of  forest,  at  the  head 
joined  by  a  dam  to  the  West  Virginia  shore, 
from  which  it  is  separated  by  a  slender  chan- 
nel. Blennerhassett's  is  some  three  and  a  half 
miles  long;  of  its  five  hundred  acres,  four  hun- 
dred are  under  cultivation  in  three  separate 
tenant  farms.  We  landed  at  the  upper  end, 
where  Blennerhassett  had  his  wharf,  facing  the 
Ohio  shore,  and  found  that  we  were  tres- 
passing upon  "The  Blennerhassett  Pleasure 
Grounds. "  A  seedy-looking  man,  who  repre- 
sented himself  to  be  the  proprietor,  promptly 
accosted  us  and  levied  a  ' '  landing  fee  "  of  ten 
cents  per  head,  which  included  the  right  to 
remain  over  night.  A  little  questioning  de- 
veloped the  fact  that  thirty  acres  at  the  head 
of  the  island  belong  to  this  man,  who  rents 
the  ground  to  a  market  gardener, — together 
with  the  comfortable  farmhouse  which  occu- 
pies the  site  of  Blennerhassett's  mansion, — but 
reserves  to  himself  the  privilege  of  levying  toll 


96  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

on  visitors.  He  declared  to  me  that  fifteen 
thousand  people  came  to  the  island  each  sum- 
mer, generally  in  large  railway  and  steamboat 
excursions,  which  gives  him  an  easily-acquired 
income  sufficient  for  his  needs.  It  is  a  pity 
that  so  famous  a  place  is  not  a  public  park. 

The  touching  story  of  the  Blennerhassetts 
is  one  of  the  best  known  in  Western  annals. 
Rich  in  culture  and  worldly  possessions,  but 
wildly  impracticable,  Harman  Blennerhassett 
and  his  beautiful  wife  came  to  America  in 
1798.  Buying  this  lovely  island  in  the  Ohio, 
six  hundred  miles  west  of  tidewater,  they  built 
a  large  mansion,  which  they  furnished  lux- 
uriously, adorning  it  with  fine  pictures  and 
statuary.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  beautiful 
grounds,  while  Blennerhassett  studied  astron- 
omy, chemistry,  and  galvanism,  his  brilliant 
spouse  dispensed  rare  hospitality  to  their  many 
distinguished  guests;  for,  in  those  days,  it  was 
part  of  a  rich  young  man's  education  to  take  a 
journey  down  the  Ohio,  into  "the  Western 
parts, "  and  on  returning  home  to  write  a  book 
about  it. 

But  there  came  a  serpent  to  this  Eden. 
Aaron  Burr  was  among  their  visitors  (1805), 
while  upon  his  journey  to  New  Orleans,  where 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  97 

he  hoped  to  set  on  foot  a  scheme  to  seize 
either  Texas  or  Mexico,  and  set  up  a  republic 
with  himself  at  the  head.  He  interested  the 
susceptible  Blennerhassetts  in  his  plans,  the 
import  of  which  they  probably  little  under- 
stood; but  the  fantastic  Englishman  had  suf- 
fered a  considerable  reduction  of  fortune,  and 
was  anxious  to  recoup,  and  Burr's  representa- 
tions were  aglow  with  the  promise  of  such 
rewards  in  the  golden  southwest  as  Cortes  and 
Coronado  sought.  Blennerhassett's  purse  was 
opened  to  the  enterprise  of  Burr;  large  sums 
were  spent  in  boats  and  munitions,  which  were, 
tradition  says,  for  a  time  hid  in  the  bayou 
which,  close  by  our  camp,  runs  deep  into  the 
island  forest.  It  has  been  filled  in  by  the 
present  proprietor,  but  its  bold  shore  lines,  all 
hung  with  giant  sycamores,  are  still  in  evi- 
dence. 

President  Jefferson's  proclamation  (October, 
1806)  shattered  the  plot,  and  Blennerhassett 
fled  to  join  Burr  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cumber- 
land. Both  were  finally  arrested  (1807),  and 
tried  for  treason,  but  acquitted  on  technical 
grounds.  In  the  meantime,  people  from  the 
neighboring  country  sacked  Blennerhassett's 
house;  then  came  creditors,  and  with  great 
7 


98  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

waste  seized  his  property;  the  beautiful  place 
was  still  further  pillaged  by  lawless  ruffians, 
and  turned  into  ignoble  uses;  later,  the  man- 
sion itself  was  burned  through  the  carelessness 
of  negroes — and  now,  all  they  can  show  us  are 
the  old  well  and  the  noble  trees  which  once 
graced  the  lawn.  As  for  the  Blennerhassetts 
themselves,  they  wandered  far  and  wide,  every- 
where the  victims  of  misfortune.  He  died  on 
the  Island  of  Guernsey  (1831),  a  disappointed 
office-seeker;  she,  returning  to  America  to  seek 
redress  from  Congress  for  the  spoliation  of  her 
home,  passed  away  in  New  York,  before  the 
claim  was  allowed,  and  was  buried  by  the  Sis- 
ters of  Charity. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

POOR  WHITES — FIRST  LIBRARY  IN  THE  WEST — 
AN    HOUR    AT     HOCKINGPORT — A    HERMIT 

FISHER. 

LONG  BOTTOM,  Monday,  May  i4th. — Push- 
ing up  stream  for  two  miles  this  morning,  the 
commissary  department  replenished  the  day's 
stores  at  Parkersburg.  Forepaugh's  circus 
was  in  town,  and  crowds  of  rustics  were  com- 
ing in  by  wagon  road,  railway  trains,  and 
steamers  and  ferries  on  both  rivers.  The 
streets  of  the  quaint,  dingy  Southern  town 
were  teeming  with  humanity,  mainly  negroes 
and  poor  whites.  Among  the  latter,  flat, 
pallid  faces,  either  flabby  or  too  lean,  were 
under  the  swarms  of  blue,  white,  and  yellow 
sunbonnets — sad  faces,  with  lack-luster  eyes, 
coarse  hair  of  undecided  hue,  and  coarser 
speech.  These  Audreys  of  Dixie-land  are  the 
product  of  centuries  of  ill-treatment  on  our 
soil;  indented  white  servants  to  the  early  coast 
colonists  were  in  the  main  their  ancestors; 


100  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

with  slave  competition,  the  white  laborer  in  the 
South  lost  caste  until  even  the  negro  despised 
him;  and  ill-nurture  has  done  the  rest.  Then, 
too,  in  these  bottoms,  malaria  has  wrought  its 
work,  especially  among  the  underfed;  you  see 
it  in  the  yellow  skin  and  nerveless  tone  of 
these  lanky  rustics,  who  are  in  town  to  enjoy 
the  one  bright  holiday  of  their  weary  year. 

Across  the  river,  in  Ohio,  is  Belpre  (short 
for  Belle  Prairie,  and  now  locally  pronounced 
Bel'pry),  settled  by  Revolutionary  soldiers,  on 
the  Marietta  grant,  in  1789-90.  I  always 
think  well  of  Belpre,  because  here  was  estab- 
lished the  first  circulating  library  in  the 
Northwest.  Old  Israel  Putnam,  he  of  the 
wolf-den  and  Bunker  Hill,  amassed  many 
books.  His  son  Israel,  on  moving  to  Belpre 
in  1796,  carried  a  considerable  part  of  the 
collection  with  him — no  small  undertaking 
this,  at  a  time  when  goods  had  to  be  carted 
all  the  way  from  Connecticut,  over  rivers  and 
mountains  to  the  Ohio,  and  then  floated 
down  river  by  flatboat,  with  a  high  tariff  for 
every  pound  of  freight.  Young  Israel  was 
public-spirited,  and,  having  been  at  so  great 
cost  and  trouble  to  get  this  library  out  to  the 
wilderness,  desired  his  fellow-colonists  to  en- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  101 

joy  it  with  him.  It  would  have  been  unfair 
not  to  distribute  the  expense,  so  a  stock  com- 
pany was  formed,  and  shares  were  sold  at  ten 
dollars  each.  Of  the  blessings  wrought  in 
this  rude  frontier  community  by  the  books 
which  the  elder  Israel  had  collected  for  his 
Connecticut  fireside,  there  can  be  no  more 
eloquent  testimony  than  that  borne  by  an  old 
settler,  who,  in  1802,  writes  to  an  Eastern 
friend:  "In  order  to  make  the  long  winter 
evenings  pass  more  smoothly,  by  great  exer- 
tion I  purchased  a  share  in  the  Belpre  library, 
six  miles  distant.  Many  a  night  have  I  passed 
(using  pine  knots  instead  of  candles)  reading 
to  my  wife  while  she  sat  hatcheling,  carding 
or  spinning."  The  association  was  dissolved 
in  1815  or  1816,  and  the  books  distributed 
among  the  shareholders;  many  of  these  vol- 
umes are  still  extant  in  this  vicinity,  and  sev- 
eral are  in  the  college  museum  at  Marietta. 

There  are  few  descendants  hereabout  of  the 
original  New  England  settlers,  and  they  live 
miles  apart  on  the  Ohio  shore.  We  went  up 
to  visit  one,  living  opposite  Blennerhassett's 
Island.  Notice  of  our  coming  had  preceded 
us,  and  we  were  warmly  welcomed  at  a  sub- 
stantial farmhouse  in  the  outskirts  of  Belpre", 


102  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

with  every  evidence  about  of  abundant  pros- 
perity. The  maternal  great-grandfather  of 
our  host  for  an  hour  was  Rufus  Putnam,  an 
ancestor  to  be  proud  of.  Five  acres  of  goose- 
berries are  grown  on  the  place,  and  other 
sm all-fruits  in  proportion — all  for  the  Par- 
kersburg  market,  whence  much  is  shipped 
north  to  Cleveland.  Our  host  confessed  to  a 
little  malaria,  even  on  this  upper  terrace — or 
"second  bottom,"  as  they  style  it — but  "the 
land  is  good,  though  with  many  stones — nat- 
ural conditions,  you  know,  for  New  Eng- 
landers."  It  was  pleasant  for  a  New  England 
man,  not  long  removed  from  his  native  soil, 
to  find  these  people,  who  are  a  century  away 
from  home,  still  claiming  kinship. 

At  the  Big  Hockhocking  River  (197  miles), 
on  a  high,  semicircular  bottom,  is  Hocking- 
port,  a  hamlet  with  a  population  of  three 
hundred.  Here,  on  a  still  higher  bench,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  back  from  the  river,  Lord 
Dunmore  built  Fort  Gower,  one  of  a  chain  of 
posts  along  his  march  against  the  Northwest 
Indians  (1774).  It  was  from  here  that  he 
marched  to  the  Pickaway  Plains,  on  the  Scioto 
(near  Circleville,  O.),  and  concluded  that 
treaty  of  peace  to  which  Chief  Logan  refused 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  103 

his  consent.  There  are  some  remains  yet  left 
of  this  'palisaded  earthwork  of  a  century  and 
a  quarter  ago,  but  the  greater  part  has  been 
obliterated  by  plowing,  and  a  dwelling  occu- 
pies a  portion  of  the  site. 

It  had  been  very  warm,  and  we  had  needed 
an  awning  as  far  down  as  Hockingport,  where 
we  cooled  off  by  lying  on  the  grass  in  the 
shade  of  the  village  blacksmith's  shop,  which 
is,  as  well,  the  ferry-house,  with  the  bell  hung 
between  two  tall  posts  at  the  top  of  the  bank, 
its  rope  dangling  down  for  public  use.  The 
smith-ferryman  came  out  with  his  wife — a 
burly,  good-natured  couple — and  joined  us  in 
our  lounging,  for  it  is  not  every  day  that 
river  travelers  put  in  at  this  dreamy,  far- 
away port.  The  wife  had  camped  with  her 
husband,  when  he  was  boss  of  a  railway  con- 
struction gang,  and  both  of  them  frankly  en- 
vied us  our  trip.  So  did  a  neighboring  store- 
keeper, a  tall,  lean,  grave  young  man,  clean- 
shaven, coatless  and  vestless,  with  a  blue- 
glass  stud  on  his  collarless  white  shirt.  Ap- 
parently there  was  no  danger  of  customers 
walking  away  with  his  goods,  for  he  left  his 
store-door  open  to  all  comers,  not  once  glanc- 
ing thitherward  in  the  half-hour  he  sat  with 


104  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

us  on  a  stick  of  timber,  in  which  he  pensively 
carved  his  name. 

Life  goes  easily  in  Hockingport.  Years 
ago  there  was  some  business  up  the  Big 
Hocking  (short  for  Big  Hockhocking),  a  stream 
of  a  half-dozen  rods'  width,  but  now  no  steamer 
ventures  up — the  railroads  do  it  all;  as  for  the 
Ohio — well,  the  steamers  now  and  then  put 
off  a  box  or  bale  for  the  four  shop-keepers, 
and  once  in  a  while  a  passenger  patronizes 
the  landing.  There  is  still  a  little  country 
traffic,  and  formerly  a  sawmill  was  in  opera- 
tion here;  you  see  its  ruins  down  there  below. 
Hockingport  is  a  type  of  several  rustic  ham- 
lets we  have  seen  to-day;  they  are  often  in 
pairs,  one  either  side  of  the  river,  for  compan- 
ionship's sake. 

We  are  idling,  despite  the  knowledge  that  on 
turning  every  big  bend  we  are  getting  farther 
and  farther  south,  and  mid-June  on  the  Lower 
Ohio  is  apt  to  be  sub-tropical.  But  the  sink- 
ing sun  gives  us  a  shadowy  right  bank,  and 
that  is  most  welcome.  The  current  is  only 
spasmodically  good.  Every  night  the  river 
falls  from  three  to  six  inches,  and  there  are 
long  stretches  of  slack-water.  The  steamers 
pick  their  way  carefully;  we  do  not  give  them 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  105 

as  wide  a  berth  as  formerly,  for  the  wakes 
they  turn  are  no  longer  savage — but  wakes, 
even  when  sent  out  by  stern-wheelers  at  full 
speed,  now  give  us  little  trouble;  it  did  not 
take  long  to  learn  the  knack  of  "taking" 
them.  Whether  you  meet  them  at  right  an- 
gles, or  in  the  trough,  there  is  the  same  deli- 
cious sensation  of  rising  and  falling  on  the 
long  swells — there  is  no  danger,  so  long  as 
you  are  outside  the  line  of  foaming  breakers; 
within  those,  you  may  ship  water,  which  is 
not  desirable  when  there  is  a  cargo.  But  the 
boys  at  the  towns  sometimes  put  out  in  their 
rude  punts  into  the  very  vortex  of  disturb- 
ance, being  dashed  about  in  the  white  roar 
at  the  base  of  the  ponderous  paddle  wheels, 
like  a  Fiji  Islander  in  his  surf-boat.  We  heard, 
the  other  day,  of  a  boatload  of  daring  young- 
sters being  caught  by  the  wheel,  their  craft 
smashed  into  kindling-wood,  and  they  them- 
selves all  drowned  but  one. 

The  hills,  to-day,  sometimes  break  sharply 
off,  leaving  an  eroded,  often  vine-festooned  pal- 
isade some  fifty  feet  in  height,  at  the  base  of 
which  is  a  long,  tree-clad  slope  of  debris; 
then,  a  narrow,  level  terrace  from  fifty  to  a 
hundred  yards  in  width,  which  drops  suddenly 


106  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

to  a  rocky  beach;  this  in  turn  is  often  lined 
along  the  water's  edge  with  irregularly-shaped 
boulders,  from  the  size  of  Pilgrim  to  fifteen 
or  twenty  feet  in  height,  and  worn  smooth 
with  the  grinding  action  of  the  river.  The 
effect  is  highly  picturesque.  We  shall  have 
much  of  this  below. 

At  the  foot  of  one  of  these  palisades  lay  a 
shanty-boat,  with  nets  sprawled  over  the  roof 
to  dry,  and  a  live-box  anchored  hard  by. 
"Hello,  the  boat!"  brought  to  the  window 
the  head  of  the  lone  fisherman,  who  dreamily 
peered  at  us  as  we  announced  our  wish  to  be- 
come his  customers.  A  sort  of  poor-white 
Neptune,  this  tall,  lean,  lantern-jawed  old 
fellow,  with  great  round,  iron-rimmed  spec- 
tacles over  his  fishy  eyes,  his  hair  and  beard 
in  long,  snaky  locks,  and  clothing  in  dirty  tat- 
ters. As  he  put  out  in  his  skiff  to  reach  the 
live-box,  he  continuously  spewed  tobacco  juice 
about  him,  and  in  an  undertone  growled  gar- 
rulously, as  though  used  to  soliloquize  in  his 
hermitage,  where  he  lay  at  outs  with  the 
world.  He  had  been  in  this  spot  for  two 
years,  he  said,  and  sold  fish  to  the  daily  Par- 
kersburg  steamer — when  there  were  any  fish. 
But,  for  six  months  past,  he  "hadn't  made 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  107 

enough  to  keep  him  in  grub,"  and  had  now 
and  then  to  go  up  to  the  city  and  earn  some- 
thing. For  forty  years  had  he  followed  the 
apostles'  calling  on  "this  yere  Ohio,"  and  the 
fishing  was  never  so  poor  as  now — yes,  sir! 
hard  times  had  struck  his  business,  just  like 
other  folks'.  He  thought  the  oil  wells  were 
tainting  the  water,  and  the  fish  wouldn't 
breed — and  the  iron  slag,  too,  was  spoiling 
the  river,  and  he  knew  it.  He  finally  pro- 
duced for  us,  out  of  his  box,  a  three-pound 
fish, — white  perch,  calico  bass,  and  catfish 
formed  his  stock  in  trade, — but,  before  hand- 
ing it  over,  demanded  the  requisite  fifteen 
cents.  Evidently  he  had  had  dealings  with  a 
dishonest  world,  this  hermit  fisher,  and  had 
learned  a  thing  or  two. 

Perfect  camping  places  are  not  to  be  found 
every  day.  There  are  so  many  things  to 
think  of — a  good  landing  place;  good  height 
above  the  water  level,  in  case  of  a  sudden 
rise;  a  dry,  shady,  level  spot  for  the  tent; 
plenty  of  wood,  and,  if  possible,  a  spring;  and 
not  too  close  proximity  to  a  house.  Occa- 
sionally we  meet  with  what  we'  want,  when 
we  want  it;  but  quite  as  often,  ideal  camping 
places,  while  abundant  half  the  day,  are  not 


108  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

to  be  found  at  five  o'clock,  our  usual  hour  for 
homeseeking.  The  Doctor  is  our  agent  for 
this  task,  for,  being  bow  oar,  he  can  clamber 
out  most  easily.  This  evening,  he  ranged  both 
shores  for  a  considerable  distance,  with  ill 
success,  so  that  we  are  settled  on  a  narrow 
Ohio  sand-beach,  in  the  midst  of  a  sparse 
willow  copse,  only  two  feet  above  the  river. 
Dinner  was  had  at  the  very  water's  edge. 
After  a  time,  a  wind-storm  arose  and  flapped 
the  tent  right  vigorously,  causing  us  to  pin 
down  tightly  and  weight  the  sod-cloth;  while, 
amid  distant  thundering,  every  preparation 
was  made  for  a  speedy  embarkation  in  the 
event  of  flood.  The  bellow  of  the  frogs  all 
about  us,  the  scream  of  toads,  and  the  heavy 
swash  of  passing  steamers  dangerously  near 
our  door,  will  be  a  sufficient  lullaby  to-night. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CLIFF-DWELLERS  ON  LONG  BOTTOM  —  POM- 
EROY  BEND — LETART'S  ISLAND  AND  RAP- 
IDS—  GAME  IN  THE  EARLY  DAY — RAINY 
WEATHER — IN  A  "CRACKER"  HOME. 

LETART'S  ISLAND,  Tuesday,  May  i5th. — 
After  we  had  gone  to  bed  last  night, — we  in 
the  tent,  the  Doctor  and  Pilgrim  under  the  fly, 
which  serves  as  a  porch  roof, — the  heavenly 
floodgates  lifted;  the  rain,  coming  in  sheets, 
beat  a  fierce  tattoo  on  the  tightly-stretched 
canvas,  and  visions  of  a  sudden  rise  in  the 
fickle  river  were  uppermost  in  our  dreams. 
Everything  about  us  was  sopping  at  daybreak; 
but  the  sun  rose  clear  and  warm  from  a  bed 
of  eastern  clouds,  and  the  midnight  gale  had 
softened  to  a  gentle  breeze. 

Palisades  were  frequent  to-day.  We  stopped 
just  below  camp,  at  an  especially  picturesque 
Ohio  hamlet, — Long  Bottom  (207  miles), — 
where  the  dozen  or  so  cottages  are  built  close 
against  the  bald  rock.  Clambering  over  great 
water-worn  boulders,  at  the  river's  brink,  the 
109 


110  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

Doctor  and  I  made  our  way  up  through  a 
dense  tangle  of  willows  and  poison  ivy  and 
grape-vines,  emerging  upon  the  country  road 
which  passes  at  the  foot  of  this  row  of  modern 
cliff-dwellings.  For  the  most  part,  little  gar- 
dens, with  neat  palings,  run  down  from  the 
cottages  to  the  road.  One  sprawling  log  house, 
fairly  embowered  in  vines,  and  overtopped  by 
the  palisade  rising  sheer  for  thirty  feet  above 
its  back  door,  looked  in  this  setting  for  all  the 
world  like  an  Alpine  chalet,  lacking  only  stones 
on  the  roof  to  complete  the  picture.  I  took  a 
kodak  shot  at  this,  also  at  a  group  of  tousle- 
headed  children  at  the  door  of  a  decrepit  shanty 
built  entirely  within  a  crevice  of  the  rock — 
their  Hibernian  mother,  with  one  hand  holding 
an  apron  over  her  head,  and  the  other  shield- 
ing her  eyes,  shrilly  crying  to  a  neighboring 
cliff-dweller:  "Miss  McCarthy!  Miss  Mc- 
Carthy! There's  a  feller  here,  a  photergraph'n' 
all  the  people  in  the  Bottom!  Come,  quick!" 
Then  they  eagerly  pressed  around  me,  Ger- 
mans and  Irish,  big  and  little,  women  and 
children  mostly,  asking  for  a  view  of  the 
picture,  which  I  gave  all  in  turn  by  letting 
them  peep  into  the  ground-glass  "finder" — a 
pretty  picture,  they  said  it  was,  with  the  colors 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  111 

all  in,  and  "wonderfully  like,"  though  a  wee 
bit  small. 

Speaking  of  color,  we  are  daily  struck  with 
the  brilliant  hues  in  the  workaday  dresses  of 
women  and  children  seen  along  the  river.  Red 
calico  predominates,  but  blues  and  yellows, 
and  even  greens,  are  seen,  brightly  splashing 
the  somber  landscape. 

After  Long  Bottom,  we  enter  upon  the 
south-sweeping  Pomeroy  Bend  of  the  Ohio, 
commencing  at  Murraysville  (208  miles)  and 
ending  at  Pomeroy  (247  miles).  It  is  of  itself 
a  series  of  smaller  bends,  and,  as  we  twist 
about  upon  our  course,  the  wind  strikes  us 
successively  on  all  quarters;  sometimes  giving 
the  Doctor  a  chance  to  try  his  sail,  which  he 
raises  on  the  slightest  provocation, — but  at 
all  times  agreeably  ruffling  the  surface  that 
would  otherwise  reflect  the  glowing  sun  like  a 
mirror. 

The  sloping  margins  of  the  rich  bottoms  are 
now  often  cultivated  almost  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  stream,  with  a  line  of  willow  trees  left 
as  a  protecting  fringe.  Farmers  doing  this 
take  a  gambling  risk  of  a  summer  rise.  Where 
the  margins  have  been  left  untouched  by  the 
plow,  there  is  a  dense  mass  of  vegetation — 


112  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

sycamores,  big  of  girth  and  towering  to  a  hun- 
dred feet  or  more,  abound  on  every  hand ;  the 
willows  are  phenomenally-rapid  growers;  and 
in  all  available  space  is  the  rank,  thick-stand- 
ing growth  of  an  annual  locally  styled  "horse- 
weed,"  which  rears  a  cane-like  stalk  full 
eighteen  or  twenty  feet  high — it  has  now  at- 
tained but  four  or  five  feet,  but  the  dry  stalks 
of  last  year's  growth  are  everywhere  about, 
showing  what  a  formidable  barrier  to  landing 
these  giant  weeds  must  be  in  midsummer. 

We  chose  for  a  camping  place  Letart's 
Island  (232  miles),  on  the  West  Virginia  side, 
not  far  below  Milwood.  From  the  head,  where 
our  tent  is  pitched  on  a  sandy  knoll  thick- 
grown  to  willows,  a  long  gravel  spit  runs  far 
over  toward  the  Ohio  shore.  The  West  Vir- 
ginia channel  is  narrow,  slow  and  shallow; 
that  between  us  and  Ohio  has  been  lessened 
by  the  island  to  half  its  usual  width,  and  the 
current  sweeps  by  at  a  six-mile  gait,  in  which 
the  Doctor  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  our 
footing  while  having  our  customary  evening 
dip.  Our  island  is  two  long,  forested  humps 
of  sand,  connected  by  a  stretch  of  gravel  beach, 
giving  every  evidence  of  being  submerged  in 
times  of  flood;  everywhere  are  chaotic  heaps 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  113 

of  driftwood,  many  cords  in  extent;  derelict 
trees  are  lodged  in  the  tops  of  the  highest  wil- 
lows and  maples — ghostly  giants  sprawling  in 
the  moonlight;  there  is  an  abandon  of  vege- 
table debris,  layer  after  layer  laid  down  in  sandy 
coverlids.  Wild  grasses,  which  flourish  on  all 
these  flooded  lands,  here  attain  enormous  size. 
Dispensing  with  our  cots  for  the  nonce,  we 
have  spread  our  blankets  over  heaps  of  dried 
grass  pulled  from  the  monster  tufts  of  last 
year's  growth.  The  Ohio  is  capable  of  raising 
giant  floods;  it  is  still  falling  with  us,  but  there 
are  signs  at  hand,  beyond  the  slight  sprinkle 
which  cooled  the  air  for  us  at  bedtime,  of 
rainy  weather  after  the  long  drouth.  When 
the  feeders  in  the  Alleghanies  begin  to  swell, 
we  shall  perch  high  o'  nights. 

NEAR  CHESHIRE,  O.,  Wednesday,  May 
1 6th. —The  fine  current  at  the  island  gave  us 
a  noble  start  this  morning.  The  river  soon 
widens,  but  Letart's  Falls,  a  mile  or  two  be- 
low, continue  the  movement,  and  we  went 
fairly  spinning  on  our  way.  These  so-called 
falls,  rapids  rather,  long  possessed  the  imag- 
ination of  early  travelers.  Some  of  the  chron- 
iclers have,  while  describing  them,  indulged  in 
8 


114  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

flights  of  fancy.*  They  are  of  slight  conse- 
quence, however,  even  at  this  low  stage  of 
water,  save  to  the  careless  canoeist  who  has 
had  no  experience  in  rapid  water,  well-strewn 
with  sunken  boulders.  The  scenery  of  the 
locality  is  wild,  and  somewhat  impressive. 
The  Ohio  bank  is  steep  and  rugged,  abounding 
in  narrow  little  terraces  of  red  clay,  deeply 
gullied,  and  dotted  with  rough,  mean  shanties. 
It  all  had  a  forbidding  aspect,  when  viewed  in 
the  blinding  sun;  but  before  we  had  passed,  an 
intervening  cloud  cast  a  deep  shadow  over  the 
scene,  and,  softening  the  effect,  made  the 
picture  more  pleasing. 

Croghan  was  at  Letart  (1765),  on  one  of 
his  land-viewing  trips  for  the  Ohio  Company, 
and  tells  us  that  he  saw  a  "vast  migrating 
herd  "  of  buffalo  cross  the  river  here.  In  the 
beginning  of  colonization  in  this  valley,  buffalo 
and  elk  were  to  be  seen  in  herds  of  astonishing 
size;  traces  of  their  well-beaten  paths  through 
the  hills,  and  toward  the  salt  licks  of  Kentucky 

*  Notably,  Ashe's  Travels;  but  Palmer,  while  saying  that 
"  they  are  the  only  obstruction  to  the  navigation  of  the  Ohio, 
except  the  rapids  at  Louisville,"  declares  them  to  be  of  slight 
difficulty,  and,  referring  to  Ashe's  account,  says,  ' '  Like  great 
part  of  his  book,  it  is  all  romance." 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  115 

and  Illinois,  were  observable  until  within  re- 
cent years.  Gordon,  an  early  traveler  down 
the  Ohio  (1766),  speaks  of  "great  herds  of 
buffalo,  we  observed  on  the  beaches  of  the 
river  and  islands  into  which  they  come  for  air, 
and  coolness  in  the  heat  of  the  day;"  he  com- 
menced his  raids  on  them  a  hundred  miles 
below  Pittsburg.  Hutchins  (1778)  says,  "the 
whole  country  abounds  in  Bears,  Elks,  Buf- 
faloe,  Deer,  Turkies,  &c."*  Bears,  panthers, 
wolves,  eagles,  and  wild  turkeys  were  indeed 
very  plenty  at  first,  but  soon  became  extinct. 
The  theory  is  advanced  by  Dr.  Doddridge,  in 
his  Notes  on  Virginia,  that  hunters'  dogs  in- 
troduced hydrophobia  among  the  wolves,  and 
this  ridded  the  country  of  them  sooner  than 
they  would  naturally  have  gone;  but  they  were 
still  so  numerous  in  1817,  that  the  traveler 
Palmer  heard  them  nightly,  ' '  barking  on  both 
banks." 

Venomous  serpents  were  also  numerous  in 
pioneer  days,  and  stayed  longer.  The  story  is 
told  of  a  tumulus  up  toward  Moundsville,  that 

*  The  last  buffalo  on  record,  in  the  Upper  Ohio  region, 
was  killed  in  the  Great  Kanawha  Valley,  a  dozen  miles  from 
Charleston,  W.  Va.,  in  1815.  Five  years  later,  in  the  same 
vicinity,  was  killed  probably  the  last  elk  seen  east  of  the  Ohio. 


116  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

abounded  in  snakes,  particularly  rattlers.  The 
settlers  thought  to  dig  them  out,  but  they  came 
to  such  a  mass  of  human  bones  that  that  plan 
was  abandoned.  Then  they  instituted  a  block- 
ade, by  erecting  a  tight-board  fence  around 
the  mound,  and,  thus  entrapping  the  reptiles, 
extirpated  the  colony  in  a  few  days. 

Paroquets  were  once  abundant  west  of  the 
Alleghanies,  up  to  the  southern  shore  of  the 
Great  Lakes,  and  great  flocks  haunted  the 
salt  springs;  but  to-day  they  may  be  found 
only  in  the  middle  Southern  states.  There 
were,  in  a  state  of  nature,  no  crows,  black- 
birds, or  song-birds  in  this  valley;  they  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  the  colonist.  The  honey 
bee  came  with  the  white  man, — or  rather,  just 
preceded  him.  Rats  followed  the  first  settlers, 
then  opossums,  and  fox  squirrels  still  later. 
It  is  thought,  too,  that  the  sand-hill  and  whoop- 
ing cranes,  and  the  great  blue  herons  which 
we  daily  see  in  their  stately  flight,  are  birds  of 
these  later  days,  when  the  neighborhood  of 
man  has  frightened  away  the  enemies  which 
once  kept  them  from  thriving  in  the  valley. 
Turkey  buzzards  appear  to  remain  alone  of 
the  ancient  birds;  the  earliest  travelers  note 
their  presence  in  great  flocks,  and  to-day  there 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  117 

are  few  vistas  open  to  us,  without  from  one  to 
dozens  of  them  wheeling  about  in  mid-air, 
seeking  what  they  may  devour.  Public  opinion 
in  the  valley  is  opposed  to  the  wanton  killing 
of  these  scavengers,  so  useful  in  a  climate  as 
warm  as  this. 

Three  miles  below  Letart's  Rapids,  is  the 
motley  settlement  of  Antiquity,  O. ,  a  long  row 
of  cabins  and  cottages  nestled  at  the  base  of  a 
high,  vine-clad  palisade,  similar  to  that  which 
yesterday  we  visited  at  Long  Bottom.  Some 
of  these  cliff-dwellings  are  picturesque,  some 
exhibit  the  prosperity  of  their  owners,  but 
many  are  squalid.  At  the  water's  edge  is  that 
which  has  given  its  name  to  the  locality,  an 
ancient  rock,  which  once  bore  some  curious 
Indian  carving.  Hall  (1820)  found  only  one 
figure  remaining,  "a  man  in  a  sitting  posture, 
making  a  pipe;"  to-day,  even  thus  much  has 
been  largely  obliterated  by  the  elements.  But 
Antiquity  itself  is  not  quite  dead.  There  is  a 
ship-yard  here;  and  a  sawmill  in  active  opera- 
tion, besides  the  ruins  of  two  others. 

We  also  passed  Racine  (240  miles),  another 
Ohio  town — a  considerable  place,  no  doubt, 
although  only  the  tops  of  the  buildings  were, 
from  the  river  level,  to  be  seen  above  the  high 


118  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

bank;  these,  and  an  enticing  view  up  the 
wharf-street.  Of  more  immediate  interest, 
just  then,  were  the  heavens,  now  black  and 
threatening.  Putting  in  hurriedly  to  the  West 
Virginia  shore,  we  pitched  tent  on  a  shelving 
clay  beach,  shielded  by  the  ever-present  wil- 
lows, and  in  five  minutes  had  everything  under 
shelter.  With  a  rumble  and  bang,  and  a  great 
flurry  of  wind,  the  thunder-storm  broke  upon 
us  in  full  fury.  '  There  had  been  no  time  to 
run  a  ditch  around  the  tent,  so  we  spread  our 
cargo  atop  of  the  cots.  The  Boy  engineered 
riverward  the  streams  of  water  which  flowed 
in  beneath  the  canvas;  W — ,  ever  practical, 
caught  rain  from  the  dripping  fly,  and  did  the 
family  washing,  while  the  Doctor  and  I  pre- 
pared a  rather  pasty  lunch. 

An  hour  later,  we  bailed  out  Pilgrim,  and 
once  more  ventured  upon  our  way.  It  is  a 
busy  district  between  Racine  and  Sheffield 
(251  miles).  For  eleven  miles,  upon  the  Ohio 
bank,  there  are  few  breaks  between  the 
towns, — Racine,  Syracuse,  Minersville,  Pom- 
eroy,  Coalport,  Middleport,  and  Sheffield. 
Coal  mines  and  salt  works  abound,  with  other 
industries  interspersed;  and  the  neighborhood 
appears  highly  prosperous.  Its  metropolis  is 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  119 

Pomeroy,  in  shape  a  "shoe-string"  town, — 
much  of  it  not  over  two  blocks  wide,  and 
stretching  along  for  two  miles,  at  the  foot  of 
high  palisades.  West  Virginia  is  not  far  be- 
hind, in  enterprise,  with  the  salt-work  towns 
of  New  Haven,  Hartford,  and  Mason  City, — 
bespeaking,  in  their  names,  a  Connecticut 
ancestry. 

The  afternoon  sun  gushed  out,  and  the  face 
of  Nature  was  cleanly  beautiful,  as,  leaving 
the  convolutions  of  the  Pomeroy  Bend,  we 
entered  upon  that  long  river-sweep  to  the 
south-by-southwest,  which  extends  from  Pom- 
eroy to  the  Big  Sandy,  a  distance  of  sixty- 
eight  miles.  A  mile  or  two  below  Cheshire, 
O.  (256  miles),  we  put  in  for  the  night  on  the 
West  Virginia  shore.  There  is  a  natural  pier 
of  rocky  ledge,  above  that  a  sloping  beach  of 
jagged  stone,  and  then  the  little  grassy  terrace 
which  we  have  made  our  home. 

Searching  for  milk  and  eggs,  I  walked 'along 
a  railway  track  and  then  up  through  a  corn- 
field, to  a  little  log  farm-house,  whose  broad 
porch  was  shingled  with  "shakes"  and  shaded 
by  a  lusty  grape-vine.  Fences,  house,  and  out- 
buildings had  been  newly  whitewashed,  and 
there  was  all  about  an  uncommon  air  of  neat- 


120  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

ness.  A  stout  little  girl  of  eleven  or  twelve, 
met  me  at  the  narrow  gate  opening  through 
the  garden  palings.  It  may  be  because  a  gyp- 
sying  trip  like  this  roughens  one  in  many 
ways, — for  man,  with  long  living  near  to  Na- 
ture's heart,  becomes  of  the  earth,  earthy, — 
that  she  at  first  regarded  me  with  suspicious 
eyes,  and,  with  one  hand  resting  gracefully  on 
her  hip,  parleyed  over  the  gate,  as  to  what 
price  I  was  paying  in  cash,  for  eggs  and  milk, 
and  where  I  hailed  from. 

With  her  wealth  of  blond  hair  done  up  in  a 
saucy  knot  behind;  her  round,  honest  face; 
her  lips  thick,  and  parted  over  pearly  teeth; 
her  nose  saucily  retrousse;  and  her  flashing, 
outspoken  blue  eyes,  this  barefooted  child  of 
Nature  had  a  certain  air  of  authority,  a  con- 
sciousness of  power,  which  made  her  womanly 
beyond  her  years.  She  must  have  seen  that  I 
admired  her,  this  little  "cracker"  queen,  in 
her  clean  but  tattered  calico  frock;  for  her 
mood  soon  melted,  and  with  much  grace  she 
ushered  me  within  the  house.  Calling  Sam, 
an  eight-year-old,  to  ' '  keep  the  gen'lem'n  com- 
p'ny,"  she  prettily  excused  herself,  and  scamp- 
ered off  up  the  hillside  in  search  of  the  cows. 

A  barefooted,   loose-jointed,  gaunt,  sandy- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  121 

haired,  freckled,  open-eyed  youngster  is  Sam. 
He  came  lounging  into  the  room,  and,  taking 
my  hat,  hung  it  on  a  peg  above  the  fireplace; 
then,  dropping  into  a  big  rocking-chair,  with 
his  muddy  legs  hanging  over  an  arm,  at  once, 
with  a  curious,  old-fashioned  air,  began  ' '  keep- 
ing company"  by  telling  me  of  the  new  litter 
of  pigs,  with  as  little  diffidence  as  though  I 
were  an  old  neighbor  who  had  dropped  in  on 
the  way  to  the  cross-roads.  ' '  And  thet  thar 
new  Shanghai  rooster,  mister,  ain't  he  a  beauty? 
He  cost  a  dollar,  he  did — a  dollar  in  silver, 
sir!" 

There  was  no  difficulty  in  drawing  Sam 
out.  He  is  frankness  itself.  What  was  he 
going  to  make  of  himself  ?  Well,  he  ' '  'lowed  " 
he  wanted  to  be  either  a  locomotive  engineer 
or  a  steamboat  captain — hadn't  made  up  his 
mind  which.  "But  whatever  a  boy  wants 
to  be,  he  will  be!"  said  Sam,  with  the  decided 
tone  of  a  man  of  the  world,  who  had  seen 
things.  I  asked  Sam  what  the  attractions 
were  in  the  life  of  an  engine  driver.  He 
* '  'lowed  "  they  went  so  fast  through  the  world, 
and  saw  so  many  different  people;  and  in 
their  lifetime  served  on  different  roads,  maybe, 
and  surely  they  must  meet  with  some  excite- 


122  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ment.  And  in  that  of  a  steamboat  captain  ? 
"Oh!  now  yew're  talk'n',  mister!  A  right 
smart  business,  thet!  A  boss'n'  o'  people 
'round,  a  seein'  o'  th'  world,  and  noth'n'  't  all 
to  do!  Now,  that's  right  smart,  I  take  it!" 
It  was  plain  where  his  heart  lay.  He  saw  the 
steamers  pass  the  farm  daily,  and  once  he 
had  watched  one  unload  at  Point  Pleasant — 
well,  that  was  the  life  for  him!  Sam  will 
have  to  be  up  and  doing,  if  he  is  to  be  the 
monarch  of  a  stern-wheeler  on  the  Ohio;  but 
many  another  "cracker"  boy  has  attained 
this  exalted  station,  and  Sam  is  of  the  sort  to 
win  his  way. 

Soon  the  kine  came  lowing  into  the  yard, 
and  my  piquant  young  friend  who  had  met 
me  at  the  gate  stood  in  the  doorway  talking 
with  us  both,  while  their  brother  Charley,  an 
awkward,  self-conscious  lad  of  ten,  took  my 
pail  and  milked  into  it  the  required  two 
quarts.  It  is  a  large,  square  room,  where  I 
was  so  agreeably  entertained.  The  well- 
chinked  logs  are  scrupulously  whitewashed; 
the  parental  bed,  with  gay  pillow  shams, 
bought  from  a  peddler,  occupies  one  corner; 
a  huge  brick  fireplace  opens  black  and  yawn- 
ing, into  the  base  of  a  great  cobblestone 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  123 

chimney  reared  against  the  house  without, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  country;  on  pegs 
about,  hang  the  best  clothes  of  the  family; 
while  a  sewing-machine,  a  deal  table,  a  cheap 
little  mirror  as  big  as  my  palm,  a  few  un- 
Iramed  chromos,  and  a  gaudy  "Family  Rec- 
ord" chart  hung  in  an  old  looking-glass 
frame, — with  appropriate  holes  for  tintypes  of 
father,  mother  and  children, — complete  the 
furnishings  of  the  apartment,  which  is  parlor, 
sitting-room,  dining-room,  and  bedroom  all  in 
one. 

My  little  queen  was  evidently  proud  of  her 
throne-room,  and  noted  with  satisfaction  my 
interest  in  the  Family  Record.  When  I  had 
paid  her  for  butter  and  eggs,  at  retail  rates, 
she  threw  in  an  extra  egg,  and,  despite  my 
protests,  would  have  Charley  take  the  pail  out 
to  the  cow,  "for  an  extra  squirt  or  two,  for 
good  measure!" 

I  was  bidding  them  all  good-bye,  and  the 
queen  was  pressing  me  to  come  again  in  the 
morning  "fer  more  stuff,  ef  ye  'lowed  yew 
wanted  any,"  when  the  mother  of  the  little 
brood  appeared  from  over  the  fields,  where 
she  had  been  to  carry  water  to  her  lord.  A 
fair,  intelligent,  rather  fine-looking  woman, 


124  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

but  barefooted  like  the  rest;  from  her  neck 
behind,  dangled  a  red  sunbonnet,  and  a 
sunny-haired  child  of  five  was  in  her  arms — 
"sort  o'  weak  in  her  lungs,  poor  thing!"  she 
sadly  said,  as  I  snapped  my  fingers  at  the 
smiling  tot.  I  tarried  a  moment  with  the 
good  mother,  as,  sitting  upon  the  porch,  she 
serenely  smiled  upon  her  children,  whose  eyes 
were  now  lit  with  responsive  love;  and  I 
wondered  if  there  were  not  some  romance 
hidden  here,  whereby  a  dash  of  gentler  blood 
had  through  this  sweet-tempered  woman  been 
infused  into  the  coarse  clay  of  the  bottom. 


CHAPTER   XL 

BATTLE  OF  POINT  PLEASANT — THE  STORY  OF 
GALLIPOLIS  —  ROSEBUD  —  HUNTINGTON  — 

THE   GENESIS   OF   A   HOUSE-BOATER. 

NEAR  GLENWOOD,  W.  VA.  ,  Thursday,  May 
1 7th. — By  eight  o'clock  this  morning  we  were 
in  Point  Pleasant,  W.  Va.,  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Great  Kanawha  River  (263  miles).  Ce"l- 
oron  was  here,  the  eighteenth  of  August,  1749, 
and  on  the  east  bank  of  the  river,  the  site  of 
the  present  village,  buried  at  the  foot  of  an 
elm  one  of  his  leaden  plates  asserting  the  claim 
of  France  to  the  Ohio  basin.  Ninety-seven 
years  later,  a  boy  unearthed  this  interesting 
but  futile  proclamation,  and  it  rests  to-day  in 
the  museum  of  the  Virginia  Historical  So- 
ciety. 

The  Great  Kanawha  Valley  long  had  a 
romantic  interest  for  Englishmen  concerned 
in  Western  lands.  It  was  in  the  grant  to 
the  old  Ohio  Company;  but  that  corporation, 
handicapped  in  many  ways,  was  practically 
dead  by  the  time  of  Lord  Dunmore's  war. 
125 


126  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

It  had  many  rivals,  more  or  less  ephemeral, 
among  them  the  scheme  of  George  Mercer 
(1773)  to  have  the  territory  between  the  Alle- 
ghanies  and  the  Ohio — the  West  Virginia  of 
to-day — erected  into  the  ' '  Province  of  Van- 
dalia,"  with  himself  as  governor,  and  his  cap- 
ital at  the  mouth  of  the  Great  Kanawha. 
Washington  owned  a  ten-thousand-acre  tract 
on  both  sides  of  the  river,  commencing  a 
short  distance  above  the  mouth,  which  he 
surveyed  in  person,  in  October,  1770;  and  in 
1773  we  find  him  advertising  to  sell  or  lease 
it;  among  the  inducements  he  offered  was, 
"the  scheme  for  establishing  a  new  govern- 
ment on  the  Ohio, "  and  the  contiguity  of  his 
lands  "to  the  seat  of  government,  which,  it  is 
more  than  probable,  will  be  fixed  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Great  Kanawha. "  Had  not  the 
Revolution  broken  out,  and  nipped  this  and 
many  another  budding  plan  for  Western  col- 
onization, there  is  little  doubt  that  what  we 
call  West  Virginia  would  have  been  estab- 
lished as  a  state,  a  century  earlier  than  it 
was.* 


*  Washington  was  much  interested  in  a  plan  to  connect, 
by  a  canal,  the  James  and  Great  Kanawha  Rivers,  separated 
at  their  sources  by  a  portage  of  but  a  few  miles  in  length. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  127 

A  few  days  ago  we  were  at  Mingo  Bottom, 
where  lived  Chief  Logan,  whose  family  were 
treacherously  slaughtered  by  border  ruffians 
(1774).  The  Mingos,  ablaze  with  the  fire  of 
vengeance,  carried  the  war-pipe  through  the 
neighboring  villages;  runners  were  sent  in 
every  direction  to  rouse  the  tribes;  tomahawks 
were  unearthed,  war-posts  were  planted;  mes- 
sages of  defiance  sent  to  the  Virginians;  and 
in  a  few  days  Lord  Dunmore's  war  was  in  full 
swing,  from  Cumberland  Gap  to  Fort  Pitt, 
from  the  Alleghanies  to  the  Wabash. 

His  lordship,  then  governor  of  Virginia,  was 
full  of  energy,  and  proved  himself  a  compe- 
tent military  manager.  The  settlers  were  or- 
ganized; the  rude  log  forts  were  garrisoned; 
forays  were  made  against  the  Indian  villages 
as  far  away  as  Muskingum,  and  an  army  of 

The  distance  from  Point  Pleasant  to  Richmond  is  485  miles. 
In  1785,  Virginia  incorporated  the  James  River  Company, 
of  which  Washington  was  the  first  president.  The  project 
hung  fire,  because  of  "party  spirit  and  sectional  jealousies, " 
until  1832,  when  a  new  company  was  incorporated,  under 
which  the  James  was  improved  (1836-53),  but  the  Kanawha 
was  untouched.  In  1874,  United  States  engineers  presented 
a  plan  calling  for  an  expenditure  of  sixty  millions,  but  there 
the  matter  rests.  The  Kanawha  is  navigable  by  large 
steamers  for  sixty  miles,  up  to  the  falls  at  Charleston,  and 
beyond  almost  to  its  source,  by  light  craft. 


128  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

nearly  three  thousand  backwoodsmen,  armed 
with  smooth-bores  and  clad  in  fringed  buck- 
skin hunting-shirts,  was  put  in  the  field. 

One  division  of  this  army,  eleven  hundred 
strong,  under  Gen.  Andrew  Lewis,  descended 
the  Great  Kanawha  River,  and  on  Point  Pleas- 
ant met  Cornstalk,  a  famous  Shawnee  chief, 
who,  while  at  first  peaceful,  had  by  the 
Logan  tragedy  been  made  a  fierce  enemy  of 
the  whites,  and  was  now  the  leader  of  a  thou- 
sand picked  warriors,  gathered  from  all  parts 
of  the  Northwest.  On  the  loth  of  October, 
from  dawn  until  dusk,  was  here  waged  in  a 
gloomy  forest  one  of  the  most  bloody  and  stub- 
born hand-to-hand  battles  ever  fought  between 
Indians  and  whites — especially  notable,  too, 
because  for  the  first  time  the  rivals  were  about 
equal  in  number.  The  combatants  stood  be- 
hind trees,  in  Indian  fashion,  and  it  is  hard  to 
say  who  displayed  the  best  generalship,  Corn- 
stalk or  Lewis.*  When  the  pall  of  night  cov- 

*  Hall,  in  Romance  of  Western  History  (1820),  says 
that  when  Washington  was  tendered  command  of  the  Rev- 
olutionary army,  he  replied  that  it  should  rather  be  given  to 
Gen.  Andrew  Lewis,  of  whose  military  abilities  he  had  a 
high  opinion.  Lewis  was  a  captain  in  the  Little  Meadows 
affair  (1752),  and  a  companion  of  Washington  in  Braddock's 
defeat  (1755). 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  129 

ered  the  hideous  contest,  the  whites  had  lost 
one-fifth  of  their  number,  while  the  savages 
had  sustained  but  half  as  many  casualties. 
Cornstalk's  followers  had  had  enough,  how- 
ever, and  withdrew  before  daylight,  leaving 
the  field  to  the  Americans. 

A  few  days  later,  General  Lewis  joined 
Lord  Dunmore — who  headed  the  other  wing 
of  the  army,  which  had  proceeded  by  the  way 
of  Forts  Pitt  and  Gower  — on  the  Pickaway 
plains,  in  Ohio;  and  there  a  treaty  was  made 
with  the  Indians,  who  assented  to  every  prop- 
osition made  them.  They  surrendered  all 
claim  to  lands  south  of  the  Ohio  River,  re- 
turned their  white  prisoners  and  stolen  horses, 
and  gave  hostages  for  future  good  behavior. 

Here  at  Point  Pleasant,  a  year  later,  Fort 
Randolph  was  built,  and  garrisoned  by  a  hun- 
dred men;  for,  despite  the  treaty,  the  Indians 
were  still  troublesome.  For  a  long  time, 
Pittsburg,  Redstone,  and  Randolph  were  the 
only  garrisoned  forts  on  the  frontier.  The 
Point  Pleasant  of  to-day  is  a  dull,  sleepy  town 
of  twenty-five  hundred  inhabitants,  with  that 
unkempt  air  and  preponderance  of  lounging 
negroes,  so  common  to  small  Southern  com- 
munities. The  bottom  is  rolling,  fringed  with 
9 


130  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

large  hills,  and  on  the  Ohio  side  drops  suddenly 
for  fifty  feet  to  a  shelving  beach  of  gravel  and 
clay.  Crooked  Creek,  in  whose  narrow,  wind- 
ing valley  some  of  the  severest  fighting  was 
had,  empties  into  the  Kanawha  a  half-mile  up 
the  stream,  at  the  back  of  the  town.  It  was 
painful  to  meet  several  men  of  intelligence, 
who  had  long  been  engaged  in  trade  here,  to 
whom  the  Battle  of  Point  Pleasant  was  a 
shadowy  event,  whose  date  they  could  not  fix, 
nor  whose  importance  understand;  it  seemed 
to  be  little  more  a  part  of  their  lives,  than  an 
obscure  contest  between  Matabeles  and  whites, 
in  far-off  Africa.  It  is  time  that  our  Western 
and  Southern  folk  were  awakened  to  an  ap- 
preciation of  the  fact  that  they  have  a  history 
at  their  doors,  quite  as  significant  in  the  annals 
of  civilization  as  that  which  induces  pilgrim- 
ages to  Ticonderoga  and  Bunker  Hill. 

Four  miles  below,  Pilgrim  was  beached  for 
a  time  at  Gallipolis,  O.  (267  miles),  which  has 
a  story  all  its  own.  The  district  belonged,  a 
century  ago,  to  the  Scioto  Company,  an  off- 
shoot of  the  Marietta  enterprise.  Joel  Barlow, 
the  "poet  of  the  Revolution,"  was  sent  to 
Paris  (May,  1788)  as  agent  for  the  sale  of 
lands.  As  the  result  of  his  personal  popularity 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  131 

there,  and  his  flaming  immigration  circulars 
and  maps,  he  disposed  of  a  hundred  thousand 
acres;  to  settle  on  which,  six  hundred  French 
emigrants  sailed  for  America,  in  February, 
1 790.  They  were  peculiarly  unsuited  for  col- 
onization, even  under  the  most  favorable  con- 
ditions— being  in  the  main  physicians,  jewelers 
and  other  artisans,  a  few  mechanics,  and 
noblemen's  servants,  while  many  were  without 
trade  or  profession. 

Upon  arrival  in  Alexandria,  Va. ,  they  found 
that  their  deeds  were  valueless,  the  land  never 
having  been  paid  for  by  the  Scioto  speculators; 
moreover,  the  tract  was  filled  with  hostile  In- 
dians. However,  five  hundred  of  them  pushed 
on  to  the  region,  by  way  of  Redstone,  and 
reached  here  by  flatboat,  in  a  destitute  condi- 
tion. The  Marietta  neighbors  were  as  kind  as 
circumstances  would  allow,  and  cabins  were 
built  for  them  on  what  is  now  the  Public  Square 
of  Gallipolis.  But  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
first  principles  of  forestry  or  gardening;  the 
initial  winter  was  exceptionally  severe,  Indian 
forays  sapped  the  life  of  the  colony,  yellow 
fever  decimated  the  survivors;  and,  altogether, 
the  little  settlement  suffered  a  series  of  disas- 


132  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ters  almost  unparalleled  in  the  story  of  Amer- 
ican colonization. 

Although  finally  reimbursed  by  Congress 
with  a  special  land  grant,  the  emigrants  grad- 
ually died  off,  until  now,  so  at  least  we  were 
assured,  but  three  families  of  descendants  of 
the  original  Gauls  are  now  living  here.  It  was 
the  American  element,  aided  by  sturdy  Ger- 
mans, who  in  time  took  hold  of  the  decayed 
French  settlement,  and  built  up  the  prosperous 
little  town  of  six  thousand  inhabitants  which 
we  find  to-day.  It  is  a  conservative  town, 
with  little  perceptible  increase  in  population; 
but  there  are  many  fine  brick  blocks,  the  stores 
have  large  stocks  attractively  displayed,  and 
there  is  in  general  a  comfortable  tone  about 
the  place,  which  pleases  a  stranger.  The 
Public  Square,  where  the  first  Gauls  had  their 
little  forted  town,  appears  to  occupy  the  space 
of  three  or  four  city  blocks;  there  is  the  cus- 
tomary  band-stand  in  the  center,  and  seats 
plentifully  provided  along  the  graveled  walks 
which  divide  neat  plots  of  grass.  Over  the 
riverward  entrance  to  the  square,  is  an  arch  of 
gas-pipe,  perforated  for  illumination,  and  bear- 
ing the  dates,  «« 1790-1890," — a  relic,  this,  of 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  133 

the  centennial  which  Gallipolis  celebrated  in 
the  last-named  year. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  a 
camping-place,  this  evening.  For  several 
miles,  the  approaches  were  nearly  knee-deep  in 
mud  for  a  dozen  feet  back  from  the  water's  edge, 
or  else  the  banks  were  too  steep,  or  the  farm- 
ers had  cultivated  so  closely  to  the  brink  as  to 
leave  us  no  room  for  the  tent.  In  one  grue- 
some spot  on  the  Ohio  bank,  where  a  project- 
ing log  fortunately  served  as  a  pier,  the  Doctor 
landed  for  a  prospecting  tour;  while  I  ascended 
a  zigzag  path,  through  steep  and  rugged  land, 
to  a  nest  of  squalid  cabins  perched  by  a  shabby 
hillside  road.  A  vicious  dog  came  down  to 
meet  me  half-way,  and  might  have  succeeded 
in  carrying  off  a  portion  of  my  clothing  had 
not  his  owner  whistled  him  back. 

A  queer,  dingy,  human  wasp-nest,  this  dirty 
little  shanty  hamlet  of  Rosebud.  Pigs  and 
children  wallowed  in  comradeship,  and  as  every 
cabin  on  the  precipitous  slope  necessarily  has 
a  basement,  this  is  used  as  the  common  barn 
for  chickens,  goats,  pigs,  and  cow.  It  was 
pleasant  to  find  that  there  was  no  sweet  milk 
to  be  had  in  Rosebud,  for  it  is  kept  in  open 
pans,  in  these  fetid  rooms,  and  soon  sours — 


134  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

and  the  cows  had  not  yet  come  down  from  the 
hills.  Water,  too,  was  at  a  premium.  There 
was  none  to  be  had,  save  what  had  fallen  from 
the  clouds,  and  been  stored  in  a  foul  cistern, 
which  seemed  common  property.  I  drew  a 
pailful  of  it,  not  to  displease  the  disheveled 
group  which  surrounded  me,  full  of  questions; 
but  on  the  first  turning  in  the  lane,  emptied 
the  vessel  upon  the  back  of  a  pig,  which  was 
darting  by  with  murderous  squeal. 

The  long  twilight  was  well  nigh  spent,  when, 
on  the  Ohio  side  a  mile  or  two  above  Glen- 
wood,  W.  Va.  (287  miles),  we  came  upon  a 
wide,  level  beach  of  gravel,  below  a  sloping, 
willowed  terrace,  above  which  sharply  rose 
the  "second  bottom."  Ascending  an  angling 
farm  roadway,  while  the  others  pitched  camp, 
I  walked  over  the  undulating  bottom  to  the 
nearest  of  a  group  of  small,  neat  farmhouses, 
and  applied  for  milk.  While  a  buxom  maid 
went  out  and  milked  a  Jersey,  that  had  chanced 
to  come  home  ahead  of  her  fellows,  I  sat  on 
the  rear  porch  gossiping  with  the  farm-wife— 
a  Pennsylvania-Dutch  dame  of  ample  propor- 
tions, attired  in  light-blue  calico,  and  with 
huge  spectacles  over  her  broad,  flat  nose. 
She  and  her  "man"  own  a  hundred  and  fifty 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  135 

acres  on  the  bottom,  with  three  cows  and  other 
stock  in  proportion,  and  sell  butter  to  those 
neighbors  who  have  no  cows,  and  to  house- 
boat people.  As  for  these  latter,  though  they 
were  her  customers,  she  had  none  too  good  an 
opinion  of  them;  they  pretended  to  fish,  but 
in  reality  only  picked  up  a  living  from  the 
farmers;  nevertheless,  she  did  know  of  some 
"weakly,  delicate  people"  who  had  taken  to 
boat  life  for  economy's  sake,  and  because  an 
invalid  could  at  least  fish,  and  his  family  help 
him  at  it. 

NEAR  HUNTINGTON,  W.  VA.,  Friday,  May 
1 8th. — Backed  by  ravine-grooved  hills,  and 
edged  at  the  waterside  with  great  picturesque 
boulders,  planed  and  polished  by  the  ever- 
rushing  river,  the  little  bottom  farms  along  our 
path  to-day  are  pretty  bits.  But  the  houses 
are  the  reverse  of  this,  having  much  the  aspect 
of  slave-cabins  of  the  olden  time — small,  one- 
story,  log  and  frame  shanties,  roof  and  gables 
shingled  with  "shakes,"  and  little  vegetable 
gardens  inclosed  by  palings.  The  majority  of 
these  small  farmers — whose  tracts  seldom  ex- 
ceed a  hundred  acres — rent  their  land,  rather 
than  own  it.  The  plan  seems  to  be  half-and- 


136  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

half  as  to  crops,  with  a  rental  fee  for  house 
and  pasturage.  One  man,  having  a  hundred- 
and-twenty  acres,  told  me  he  paid  three  dollars 
a  month  for  his  house,  and  for  pasturage  a 
dollar  a  month  per  head. 

We  were  in  several  of  the  small  towns  to- 
day. At  Millersport,  O.  (293  miles),  while 
W —  and  the  Doctor  were  up  town,  the  Boy 
and  I  remained  at  the  wharf-boat  to  talk  with 
the  owner.  The  wharf-boat  is  a  conspicuous 
object  at  every  landing  of  importance,  being  a 
covered  barge  used  as  a  storehouse  for  coming 
and  going  steamboat  freight.  It  is  a  private 
enterprise,  for  public  convenience,  with  cer- 
tain monopolistic  privileges  at  the  incorporated 
towns.  This  Millersport  boat  cost  twelve  hun- 
dred dollars;  the  proprietor  charges  twenty  per 
cent  of  each  freight-bill,  for  handling  and  stor- 
ing goods,  a  fee  of  twenty-five  cents  for  each 
steamer  that  lands,  and  certain  special  fees 
for  live  stock.  Athalia,  Haskellville  and 
Guyandotte  were  other  representative  towns. 
Stave-making  appears  to  be  the  chief  industry, 
and,  as  timber  is  getting  scarce,  the  commu- 
nities show  signs  of  decay. 

We  had  been  told,  above,  that  Huntington, 
W.  Va.  (306  miles),  was  "a  right  smart  chunk 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  137 

of  a  town."  And  it  is.  There  are  sixteen 
thousand  people  here,  in  a  finely-built  city 
spread  over  a  broad,  flat  plain.  Brick  and 
stone  business  buildings  abound;  the  broad 
streets  are  paved  with  brick,  and  an  electric- 
car  line  runs  out  along  the  bottom,  through 
the  suburb  of  Ceredo,  W.  Va.,  to  Catletts- 
burg,  Ky.,  nine  miles  away.  Huntington 
is  the  center  of  a  large  group  of  riverside  towns 
supported  by  iron-making  and  other  indus- 
tries— Guyandotte  and  Ceredo,  in  West  Vir- 
ginia; Catlettsburg,  just  over  the  border  in 
Kentucky;  and  Proctorville,  Broderickville, 
Frampton,  Burlington,  and  South  Point,  on 
the  opposite  shore. 

We  are  camping  to-night  in  the  dense  wil- 
low grove  which  lines  the  West  Virginia  beach 
from  Huntington  to  the  Big  Sandy.  Above 
us,  on  the  wide  terrace,  are  fields  and  orchards, 
beyond  which  we  occasionally  hear  the  gong 
of  electric  cars.  A  public  path  runs  by  the 
tent,  leading  from  the  lower  settlements  into 
Huntington.  Among  our  visitors  have  been 
two  houseboat  men,  whose  craft  is  moored  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  below.  One  of  them  is  tall, 
thick-set,  forty,  with  a  round,  florid  face,  and 
huge  mustaches, — evidently  a  jolly  fellow  at 


138  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

his  best,  despite  a  certain  dubious,  piratical 
air;  a  jaunty,  narrow-brimmed  straw  hat  is 
perched  over  one  ear,  to  add  to  the  general 
effect;  and  between  his  teeth  a  corn-cob  pipe. 
His  younger  companion  is  medium-sized,  slim, 
and  loose- jointed,  with  a  baggy  gait,  his  cap 
thrown  over  his  head,  with  the  visor  in  the 
rear — a  rustic  clown,  not  yet  outgrown  his 
freckles.  But  three  weeks  from  the  parental 
farm  in  Putnam  County,  Ky. ,  the  world  is  as 
yet  a  romance  to  him.  The  fellow  is  inter- 
esting, because  in  him  can  be  seen  the  genesis 
of  a  considerable  element  of  the  houseboat 
fraternity.  I  wonder  how  long  it  will  be  be- 
fore his  partner  has  him  broken  in  as  a  river- 
pirate  of  the  first  water. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  A  FOG— THE  BIG  SANDY — RAINY  WEATH- 
ER— OPERATIC  GYPSIES — AN  ANCIENT  TAV- 
ERN. 

IRONTON,  O.,  Saturday,  May  i9th. — When 
we  turned  in,  last  night,  it  was  refreshingly 
cool.  Heavy  clouds  were  scurrying  across  the 
face  of  the  moon.  By  midnight,  a  copious 
rain  was  falling,  wind-gusts  were  flapping  our 
roof,  and  a  sudden  drop  in  temperature  ren- 
dered sadly  inadequate  all  the  clothing  we 
could  muster  into  service.  We  slept  late,  in 
consequence,  and,  after  rigging  a  wind-break 
with  the  rubber  blankets,  during  breakfast 
huddled  around  the  stove  which  had  been 
brought  in  to  replace  Pilgrim  under  the  fly. 
When,  at  half-past  nine,  we  pushed  off,  our 
houseboat  neighbors  thrust  their  heads  from 
the  window  and  waved  us  farewell. 

A  dense  fog  hung  like  a  cloud  over  land  and 
river.  There  was  a  stiff  north-east  wind, 
which  we  avoided  by  seeking  the  Ohio  shore, 
139 


140  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

where  the  high  hills  formed  a  break;  there 
too,  the  current  was  swift,  and  carried  us 
down  right  merrily.  Shattered  by  the  wind, 
great  banks  of  fog  rolled  up  stream,  sometimes 
enveloping  us  so  as  to  narrow  our  view  to  a 
radius  of  a  dozen  rods, — again,  through  the 
rifts,  giving  us  momentary  glimpses  on  the 
right,  of  rich  green  hills,  towering  dark  and 
steep  above  us,  iridescent  with  browns,  and 
grays,  and  many  shades  of  green;  of  white- 
washed cabins,  single  or  in  groups,  standing 
out  with  startling  distinctness  from  som- 
bre backgrounds;  of  houseboats,  many-hued, 
moored  to  willowed  banks  or  bolstered  high 
upon  shaly  beaches;  of  the  opposite  bottom, 
with  its  corrugated  cliff  of  clay;  and,  now  and 
then,  a  slowly-puffing  steamboat  cautiously 
feeling  its  way  through  the  chilling  gloom — a 
monster  to  be  avoided  by  little  Pilgrim  and  her 
crew,  for  the  possibility  of  being  run  down  in 
a  fog  is  not  pleasant  to  contemplate.  On 
board  one  of  these  steamers  was  a  sorry  com- 
pany— apparently  a  Sunday-school  excursion. 
Children  in  gala  dress  huddled  in  swarms  on 
the  lee  of  the  great  smoke-stacks,  and  in  im- 
agination we  heard  their  teeth  chatter  as  they 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  141 

glided  by  us  and  in  another  moment  were  en- 
gulfed in  the  mist. 

We  catch  sight  for  a  moment,  through  a 
cloud  crevasse,  of  Ceredo,  the  last  town  in 
West  Virginia — a  small  saw-milling  commu- 
nity stuck  upon  the  edge  of  the  clay  cliff,  with 
the  broad  level  bottom  stretching  out  behind 
like  a  prairie.  A  giant  railway  bridge  here 
spans  the  Ohio — a  weird,  impressive  thing,  as 
we  sweep  under  it  in  the  swirling  current,  and 
crane  our  necks  to  see  the  great  stone  piers 
lose  themselves  in  the  cloud.  But  the  Big 
Sandy  River  (315  miles),  which  divides  West 
Virginia  and  Kentucky,  was  wholly  lost  to 
view.  In  an  opening  a  few  moments  later, 
however,  we  had  a  glimpse  of  the  dark  line  of 
her  valley,  below  which  the  hills  again  descend 
to  the  Ohio's  bank. 

Catlettsburg,  the  first  Kentucky  town,  is  at 
the  junction,  and  extends  along  the  foot  of 
the  ridge  for  a  mile  or  two,  apparently  not 
over  two  blocks  wide,  with  a  few  outlying 
shanties  on  the  shoulders  of  the  uplands. 
Washington  was  surveying  here,  on  the  Big 
Sandy,  in  1770,  and  entered  for  one  John  Fry 
2,084  acres  round  the  site  of  Louisa,  a  dozen 
miles  up  the  river;  this  was  the  first  survey 


142  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

made  in  Kentucky — but  a  few  months  later 
than  Boone's  first  advent  as  a  hunter  on  the 
"dark  and  bloody  ground,"  and  five  years 
before  the  first  permanent  settlement  in  the 
State.  Washington  deserves  to  be  remem- 
bered as  a  Kentucky  pioneer. 

We  have  not  only  steamers  to  avoid, — they 
appear  to  be  unusually  numerous  about  here, — 
but  snags  as  well.  With  care,  the  whereabouts 
of  a  steamer  can  be  distinguished  as  it  steals 
upon  us,  from  the  superior  whiteness  of  its  col- 
umn of  "exhaust,"  penetrating  the  bank  of 
dark  gray  fog;  and  occasionally  the  echoes 
are  awakened  by  the  burly  roar  of  its  whistle, 
which,  in  times  like  this,  acts  as  a  fog-horn. 
But  the  snag  is  an  insidious  enemy,  not  re- 
vealing itself  until  we  are  within  a  rod  or  two, 
and  then  there  is  a  quick  cry  of  warning  from 
the  stern  sheets — "Hard  a-port!"  or  "Star- 
board, quick!"  and  only  a  strong  side-pull, 
aided  by  W — 's  paddle,  sends  us  free  from  the 
jagged,  branching  mass  which  might  readily 
have  swamped  poor  Pilgrim  had  she  taken  it 
at  full  tilt. 

At  Ashland,  Ky.  (320  miles),  we  stopped 
for  supplies.  There  are  six  thousand  inhab- 
itants here,  with  some  good  buildings  and  a 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  143 

fine,  broad,  stone  wharf,  but  it  is  rather  a  dingy 
place.  The  steamer  "Bonanza"  had  just 
landed.  On  the  double  row  of  flaggings  lead- 
ing up  to  the  summit  of  the  bank,  were  two 
ant-like  processions  of  Kentucky  folk — one, 
leisurely  climbing  townward  with  their  bags 
and  bundles,  the  other  hurrying  down  with 
theirs  to  the  boat,  which  was  ringing  its  bell, 
blowing  off  steam,  and  in  other  ways  creating 
an  uproar  which  seemed  to  turn  the  heads  of 
the  negro  roustabouts  and  draymen,  who 
bustled  around  with  a  great  chatter  and  much 
false  motion.  The  railway  may  be  doing  the 
bulk  of  the  business,  but  it  does  it  unostenta- 
tiously; the  steamboat  makes  far  more  disturb- 
ance in  the  world,  and  is  a  finer  spectacle. 
Dozens  of  boys  are  lounging  at  the  wharf 
foot,  watching  the  lively  scene  with  fascinated 
eyes,  probably  every  one  of  them  stoutly  pos- 
sessed of  an  ambition  akin  to  that  of  my 
young  friend  in  the  Cheshire  Bottom. 

A  rain-storm  broke  the  fog — a  cold,  raw, 
miserable  rain.  No  clothing  we  could  don 
appeared  to  suffice  against  the  chill;  and  so  at 
last  we  pitched  camp  upon  the  Ohio  shore, 
three  miles  above  the  Ironton  wharf  (325 
miles).  It  is  a  muddy,  dreary  nest  up  here, 


144  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

among  the  dripping  willows.  Just  behind  us 
on  the  slope,  is  the  inclined  track  of  the  Nor- 
folk &  Western  railway-transfer,  down  which 
trains  are  slid  to  a  huge  slip,  and  thence  ferried 
over  the  river  into  Kentucky;  above  that,  on  a 
narrow  terrace,  is  an  ordinary  railway  line;  and 
still  higher,  up  a  slippery  clay  bank,  lies  the 
cottage-strewn  bottom  which  stretches  on  into 
Ironton  (13,000  inhabitants). 

We  were  a  sorry-looking  party,  at  lunch  this 
noon,  hovering  over  the  smoking  stove  which 
was  set  in  the  tent  door,  with  a  wind-screen 
in  front,  and  moist  bedding  hung  all  about  in 
the  vain  hope  of  drying  it  in  the  feeble  heat. 
And  sorrier  still,  through  the  long  afternoon, 
as,  each  encased  in  a  sleeping-bag,  we  sat  upon 
our  cots  circling  around  the  stove,  W —  read- 
ing to  us  between  chattering  teeth  from  Bar- 
rie's  When  a  Man's  Single.  Tis  good  Scot- 
tish weather  we're  having;  but  somehow  our 
thoughts  could  not  rest  on  Thrums,  and  we 
were,  for  the  nonce,  a  wee  bit  miserable. 

Dinner  degenerated  into  a  smoky  bite,  and 
then  at  dusk  there  was  a  council  of  war.  The 
air  hangs  thick  with  moisture,  our  possessions 
are  in  various  stages  from  damp  to  sopping 
wet,  and  efforts  at  drying  over  the  little  stove 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  145 

are  futile  under  such  conditions.  It  was  dem- 
onstrated that  there  was  not  bed-clothing 
enough,  in  such  an  emergency  as  this;  indeed, 
an  inspection  of  that  which  was  merely  damp, 
revealed  the  fact  that  but  one  person  could 
be  made  comfortable  to-night.  Our  bachelor 
Doctor  volunteered  to  be  that  one.  So  we 
bade  him  God-speed,  and  with  toilet  bag  in 
hand  I  led  my  little  family  up  a  tortuous  path, 
so  slippery  in  the  rain  that  we  were  obliged  in 
our  muddy  climb  to  cling  to  grass-clumps  and 
bushes.  And  thus,  wet  and  bedraggled,  did 
we  sally  forth  upon  the  Ironton  Bottom,  seek- 
ing shelter  for  the  night. 

Fortunately  we  had  not  far  to  seek.  A 
kindly  family  took  us  in,  despite  our  gruesome 
aspect  and  our  unlikely  story — for  what  man- 
ner of  folk  are  we,  that  go  trapesing  about  in 
a  skiff,  in  such  weather  as  this,  coming  from 
nobody  knows  where  and  camping  o'  nights  in 
the  muddy  river  bottoms?  Instead  of  sending 
us  on,  in  the  drenching  rain,  to  a  hotel,  three 
miles  down  the  road,  or  offering  us  a  ticket  on 
the  Associated  Charities,  these  blessed  people 
open  their  hearts  and  their  beds  to  us,  without 
question,  and  what  more  can  weary  pilgrims 
pray  for? 


146  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

SCIOTOVILLE,  O.,  Sunday,  May2Oth. — After 
breakfast,  and  settling  our  modest  score,  we 
rejoined  the  Doctor,  and  at  ten  o'clock  pulled 
out  again;  being  bidden  good-bye  at  the  land- 
ing, by  the  children  of  our  hostess,  who  had 
sent  us  by  them  a  bottle  of  fresh  milk  as  a 
parting  gift. 

It  had  rained  almost  continuously,  through- 
out the  night.  To-day  we  have  a  dark  gray 
sky,  with  fickle  winds.  A  charming  color 
study,  all  along  our  path;  the  reds  and  grays 
and  yellows  of  the  high  clay-banks  which  edge 
the  reciprocating  bottoms,  the  browns  and 
yellows  of  hillside  fields,  the  deep  greens  of 
forest  verdure,  the  vivid  white  of  bankside 
cabins,  and,  in  the  background  of  each  new 
vista,  bold  headlands  veiled  in  blue.  W — 
and  the  Boy  are  in  the  stern  sheets,  wrapped 
in  blankets,  for  there  is  a  smart  chill  in  the  air, 
and  we  at  the  oars  pull  lively  for  warmth.  In 
our  twisting  course,  sometimes  we  have  a 
favoring  breeze,  and  the  Doctor  rears  the  sail; 
but  it  is  a  brief  delight,  for  the  next  turn  brings 
the  wind  in  our  teeth,  and  we  set  to  the  blades 
with  renewed  energy.  In  the  main,  we  make 
good  time.  The  sugar-loaf  hills,  with  their 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  147 

castellated  escarpments,  go  marching  by  with 
stately  sweep. 

Greenup  Court  House  (334  miles)  is  a  bright 
little  Kentucky  county-seat,  well-built  at  the 
feet  of  thickly-forested  uplands.  At  the  lower 
end  of  the  village,  the  Little  Sandy  enters 
through  a  wooded  dale,  which  near  the  mouth 
opens  into  a  broad  meadow.  Not  many  miles 
below,  is  a  high  sloping  beach,  picturesquely 
bestrewn  with  gigantic  boulders  which  have  in 
ages  past  rolled  down  from  the  hill-tops  above. 
Here,  among  the  rocks,  we  again  set  up  a  rude 
screen  from  the  still  piercing  wind;  and,  each 
wrapped  in  a  gay  blanket,  lunch  as  operatic 
gypsies  might,  in  a  romantic  glen,  enjoying 
mightily  our  steaming  chocolate,  and  the 
warmth  of  our  friendly  stove — for  dessert, 
taking  a  merry  scamper  for  flowers,  over  the 
ragged  ascent  from  whence  the  boulders  came. 
Everywhere  about  is  the  trumpet  creeper,  but 
not  yet  in  bloom.  The  Indian  turnip  is  in 
blossom  here,  and  so  the  smaller  Solomon's 
seal,  yellow  spikes  of  toad-flax,  blue  and  pink 
phlox,  glossy  May  apple;  high  up  on  the  hill- 
side, the  fire  pink  and  wintergreen;  and,  down 
by  the  sandy  shore,  great  beds  of  blue  wild 


148  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

lupin,  and  occasionally  stately  spikes  of  the 
familiar  moth  mullein. 

With  the  temperature  falling  rapidly,  and  a 
drizzling  rain  taking  the  starch  out  of  our  en- 
thusiasm, we  early  sought  a  camping  ground. 
For  miles  along  here,  springs  ooze  from  the 
base  of  the  high  clay  bank  walling  in  the  wide 
and  rocky  Ohio  beach,  and  dry  spots  are  few 
and  far  between.  We  found  one,  however,  a 
half  mile  above  Little  Scioto  River  (346 
miles),*  with  drift-wood  enough  to  furnish  us 
for  years,  and  the  beach  thick-strewn  with  fos- 
sils of  a  considerable  variety  of  small  bivalves, 
which  latter  greatly  delighted  the  Doctor  and 
the  Boy,  who  have  brought  enough  specimens 
to  the  tent  door  to  stock  a  college  museum. 

Dinner  over,  the  crew  hauled  Pilgrim  under 
cover,  and  within  prepared  for  her  sailing- 
master  a  cosy  bed,  with  the  entire  ship's  stock 
of  sleeping-bags  and  blankets.  W — ,  the  Boy, 
and  I  then  started  off  to  find  quarters  in  Scio- 
toville  (1,000  inhabitants),  which  lies  just 
below  the  river's  mouth,  here  a  dozen  rods 

*Two  miles  up  the  Little  Scioto,  Pine  Creek  enters.  Per- 
haps a  mile  and  a  half  up  this  creek  was,  in  1771,  a  Mingo 
town  called  Horse  Head  Bottom,  which  cuts  some  figure  in 
border  history  as  a  nest  of  Indian  marauders. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  149 

wide.  Scrambling  up  the  slimy  bank,  through 
a  maze  of  thorn  trees,  brambles,  and  sycamore 
scrubs,  we  gained  the  fertile  bottom  above,  all 
luscious  with  tall  grasses  bespangled  with  wild 
red  roses  and  the  showy  pentstemon.  The 
country  road  leading  into  the  village  is  some 
distance  inland,  but  at  last  we  found  it  just 
beyond  a  patch  of  Indian  corn  waist  high,  and 
followed  it,  through  a  covered  bridge,  and 
down  to  a  little  hotel  at  the  lower  end  of  town. 
.A  quaint,  old-fashioned  house,  the  Scioto- 
ville  tavern,  with  an  inner  gallery  looking  out 
into  a  small  garden  of  peaches,  apples,  pears, 
plums,  and  grapes — a  famous  grape  country 
this,  by  the  way.  In  our  room,  opening  from 
the  gallery,  is  an  antique  high-post  bedstead; 
everywhere  about  are  similar  relics  of  an  early 
day.  In  keeping  with  the  air  of  serene  old 
age,  which  pervades  the  hostelry,  is  the  white- 
haired  landlady  herself.  In  well-starched 
apron,  white  cap,  and  gold-rimmed  glasses, 
she  benignly  sits  rocking  by  the  office  stove, 
her  feet  on  the  fender,  reading  Wallace's 
Prince  of  India;  and  looking,  for  all  the  world, 
as  if  she  had  just  stepped  out  of  some  old 
portrait  of — well,  of  a  tavern-keeping  Martha 
Washington. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  SCIOTO,  AND  THE  SHAWANESE — A  NIGHT 
AT  ROME — LIMESTONE — KEELS,  FLATS,  AND 
BOATMEN  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 

ROME,  O.,  Monday,  May  2ist. — At  inter- 
vals through  the  night,  rain  fell,  and  the  temp- 
erature was  but  46°  at  sunrise.  However, 
by  the  time  we  were  afloat,  the  sun  was  fit- 
fully gleaming  through  masses  of  gray  cloud, 
for  a  time  giving  promise,  of  a  warmer  day. 
Dark  shadows  rested  on  the  romantic  ravines, 
and  on  the  deep  hollows  of  the  hills;  but  else- 
where over  this  gentle  landscape  of  wooded 
amphitheatres,  broad  green  meadows,  rocky 
escarpments,  and  many-colored  fields,  light 
and  shade  gayly  chased  each  other.  Never 
were  the  vistas  of  the  widening  river  more 
beautiful  than  to-day. 

There  are  saw-mill  and  fire-brick  industries 

in  the  little  towns,   which  would  be  shabby 

enough  in  the  full  glare  of  day.     But  they  are 

all    glorified   in   this  changing   light,    which 

150 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  151 

brings  out  the  rich  yellows  and  reds  in  sharp 
relief  against  the  gloomy  background  of  the 
hills,  and  mellows  into  loveliness  the  soft 
grays  of  unpainted  wood. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Scioto  (354  miles),  is 
Portsmouth,  O.  (15,000  inhabitants),  a  well- 
built,  substantial  town,  with  good  shops.  It  lies 
on  a  hill-backed  terrace  some  forty  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  neighboring  bottoms,  which 
give  evidence  of  being  victims  of  the  high 
floods  periodically  covering  the  low  lands 
about  the  junction  of  the  rivers.  Just  across 
the  Scioto  is  Alexandria,  and  on  the  Kentucky 
side  of  the  Ohio  can  be  seen  the  white  hamlet 
of  Springville,  at  the  feet  of  the  dentated  hills 
which  here  closely  approach  the  river. 

The  country  about  the  mouth  of  the  Scioto 
has  long  figured  in  Western  annals.  Being  a 
favorite  rendezvous  for  the  Shawanese,  it  nat- 
urally became  a  resort  for  French  and  Eng- 
lish fur-traders.  The  principal  part  of  the 
first  Shawanese  village — Shannoah  Town,  in 
the  old  journals — was  below  the  Scioto's 
mouth,  on  the  site  of  Alexandria;  it  was  the 
chief  town  of  this  considerable  tribe,  and  here 
Gist  was  warned  back,  when  in  March,  1751, 
he  ventured  thus  far  while  inspecting  lands  for 


152  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

the  Ohio  Company.  Two  years  later,  there 
was  a  great — perhaps  an  unprecedented — flood 
in  the  Ohio,  the  water  rising  fifty  feet  above 
the  ordinary  level,  and  destroying  the  larger 
part  of  the  Shawanese  village.  Some  of  the 
Indians  moved  to  the  Little  Miami,  and  others 
up  the  Scioto,  where  they  built,  successively, 
Old  and  New  Chillicothe;  but  the  majority 
remained,  and  rebuilt  their  town  on  the  higher 
land  north  of  the  Scioto,  where  Portsmouth 
now  stands.  An  outlying  band  had  had,  from 
before  Gist's  day,  a  small  town  across  the 
Ohio,  the  site  of  Springville;  and  it  was  here 
that  George  Croghan  had  his  stone  trading 
house,  which  was  doubtless,  after  the  manner 
of  the  times,  a  frontier  fortress.  In  the 
French  and  Indian  war  (1758),  the  Shawanese, 
tiring  of  continual  conflict,  withdrew  from 
their  Ohio  River  settlements  to  Old  (or  Up- 
per) Chillicothe,  and  thus  closed  the  once  im- 
portant fur-trade  at  the  mouth  of  the  Scioto. 
It  was  while  the  Indian  town  at  Portsmouth 
was  still  new  (1755),  that  a  party  of  Shawan- 
ese brought  here  a  Mrs.  Mary  Inglis,  whom 
they  had  captured  while  upon  a  scalping  foray 
into  Southwestern  Virginia.  The  story  of  the 
remarkable  escape  of  this  woman,  at  Big 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  153 

Bone  Lick,  of  her  long  and  terrible  flight 
through  the  wilderness  along  the  southern 
bank  of  the  Ohio  and  up  the  Great  Kanawha 
Valley,  and  her  final  return  to  home  and  kin- 
dred, who  viewed  her  as  one  delivered  from 
the  grave,  is  one  of  the  most  thrilling  in  West- 
ern history.* 

Although  the  Shawanese  had  removed  from 
their  villages  on  the  Ohio,  they  still  lived  in 
new  towns  in  the  north,  within  easy  striking 
distance  of  the  great  river;  and,  until  the 
close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  were  a  con- 
tinual source  of  alarm  to  those  whose  busi- 
ness led  them  to  follow  this  otherwise  inviting 
highway  to  the  continental  interior.  Flat- 
boats  bearing  traders,  immigrants,  and  trav- 
elers were  frequently  waylaid  by  the  savages, 
who  exhausted  a  fertile  ingenuity  in  luring 
their  victims  to  an  ambuscade  ashore;  and, 
when  not  successful  in  this,  would  in  narrow 
channels,  or  when  the  current  swept  the  craft 
near  land,  subject  the  voyagers  to  a  fierce  fus- 
ilade  of  bullets,  against  which  even  stout  plank 
barricades  proved  of  small  avail. 

*  See  Shaler's  Kentucky  (Amer.  Commonwealth  series), 
Collins's  History  of  Kentucky,  and  Hole's  Trans-Atte- 
ffhany  Pioneers.  Shaler  gives  the  date  as  1756;  but  Hale, 
a  specialist  in  border  annals,  makes  it  1755. 


154  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

Vanceburgh,  Ky.  (375  miles),  is  a  little  town 
at  the  bottom  of  a  pretty  amphitheatre  of 
hills.  There  was  a  floating  photographer 
there,  as  we  passed,  with  a  gang-plank  run 
out  to  the  shore,  and  framed  specimens  of  his 
work  hung  along  the  town  side  of  his  ample 
barge.  Men  with  teams  were  getting  wagon- 
loads  of  sand  from  the  beach,  for  building 
purposes.  And,  a  mile  or  two  down,  a  float- 
ing saw  and  planing-mill — the  "Clipper," 
which  we  had  seen  before,  up  river — was 
busied  upon  logs  which  were  being  rolled  down 
the  beach  from  the  bank  above.  There  are 
several  such  mills  upon  the  river,  all  seem- 
ingly occupied  with  "tramp  work,"  for  there 
is  a  deal  of  logging  carried  on,  in  a  small  and 
careful  way,  by  farmers  living  on  these  wooded 
hills. 

Vanceburgh  was  for  the  time  bathed  in 
sunlight;  but,  as  we  continued  on  our  way,  a 
heavy  rain-cloud  came  creeping  up  over  the 
dark  Ohio  hills,  and,  descending,  cut  off  our 
view,  at  last  lustily  pelting  us  as  we  sat  en- 
cased in  rubber.  We  had  been  in  our  pon- 
chos most  of  the  day,  as  much  for  warmth  as 
for  shelter;  for  there  was  an  all-pervading 
chill,  which  the  fickle  sun,  breaking  its  early 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  156 

promise,  had  failed  to  dissipate.  Thus,  amid 
showers  alternating  with  sunbeams,  we  pro- 
ceeded unto  Rome  (381  miles).  An  Ohio 
village,  this  Rome,  and  so  fallen  from  its  once 
proud  estate  that  its  postoffice  no  longer  bears 
the  name — it  is  simply  "Stout's,"  if,  in  these 
degenerate  days,  you  would  send  a  letter 
hither. 

It  was  smartly  raining,  when  we  put  in  on 
the  stony  beach  above  Rome.  The  tent  went 
up  in  a  hurry,  and  under  it  the  cargo ;  but  by 
the  time  all  was  housed  the  sun  gushed  out 
again,  and,  stretching  a  line,  we  soon  had  our 
bedding  hung  to  dry.  It  is  a  charming  situa- 
tion; in  this  melting  atmosphere,  we  have 
perhaps  the  most  striking  effects  of  cloud,  hill, 
bottom,  islands,  and  glancing  river,  which 
have  yet  been  vouchsafed  us. 

The  Romans,  like  most  rural  folk  along  the 
river  below  Wheeling,  chiefly  drink  cistern 
water.  Earlier  in  our  pilgrimage,  we  stoutly 
declined  to  patronize  these  rain-water  reser- 
voirs, and  I  would  daily  go  far  afield  in  search 
of  a  well;  but  lately,  necessity  has  driven  us 
to  accept  the  cistern,  and  often  we  find  it 
even  preferable  to  the  well,  on  those  rare  oc- 
casions when  the  latter  can  be  found  at  vil- 


156  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

lages  or  farm-houses.  But  there  are  cisterns 
and  cisterns — foul  holes  like  that  at  Rosebud, 
others  that  are  neatness  itself,  with  all  man- 
ner of  grades  between.  As  for  river  water, 
ever  yellow  with  clay,  and  thick  as  to  motes, 
much  of  it  is  used  in  the  country  parts.  This 
morning,  a  bevy  of  negroes  came  down  the 
bank  from  a  Kentucky  field;  and  each  in  turn, 
creeping  out  on  a  drift  log, — for  the  ground  is 
usually  muddy  a  few  feet  up  from  the  water's 
edge, — lay  flat  on  his  stomach  and  drank 
greedily  from  the  roily  mess. 

At  dusk,  there  was  again  a  damp  chill,  and 
for  the  third  time  we  left  the  Doctor  to  keep 
bachelor's  hall  upon  the  beach.  It  was  rain- 
ing smartly  by  the  time  the  tavern  was  reached, 
nearly  a  mile  down  the  bank.  Our  advent 
caused  a  rare  scurrying  to  and  fro,  for  two 
commercial  "drummers,"  who  were  to  depart 
by  the  early  morning  boat,  occupied  the 
1 '  reg'lar  spar'  room, "  the  landlady  informed  us, 
and  a  bit  of  a  cubby-hole  off  the  back  stairs 
had  to  be  arranged  for  us.  Guests  are  rari- 
ties, at  the  hostelry  in  Rome. 

NEAR  RIPLEY,  O.,  Tuesday,  May  22nd.— 
There  was  an  inch  of  snow  last  night,  on  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  157 

hills  about,  and  a  morning  Cincinnati  paper 
records  a  heavy  fall  in  the  Pennsylvania 
mountains.  The  storm  is  general,  and  the 
river  rose  two  feet  over  night.  When  we  set 
off,  in  mid-morning,  it  was  raining  heavily; 
but  in  less  than  an  hour  the  clouds  broke,  and 
the  rest  of  the  day  has  been  an  alternation  of 
chilling  showers  and  bursts  of  warm  sunshine, 
with  the  same  succession  of  alluring  vistas, 
over  which  play  broad  bands  of  changing  light 
and  shade,  and  overhead  the  storm  clouds  torn 
and  tossed  in  the  upper  currents. 

Our  landlord  at  Rome  asserted  at  breakfast 
that  Kentucky  was  fifty  years  behind  the  Ohio 
side,  in  improvements  of  every  sort.  Thus  far, 
we  have  not  ourselves  noticed  differences  of 
that  degree.  Doubtless  before  the  late  civil 
war, — all  the  ante-bellum  travelers  agree  in 
this, — when  the  blight  of  slavery  was  resting 
on  Virginia  and  Kentucky,  the  south  shore  of 
the  Ohio  was  as  another  country;  but  to-day, 
so  far  as  we  can  ascertain  from  a  surface  view, 
the  little  villages  on  either  side  are  equally 
dingy  and  woe-begone,  and  large  Southern 
towns  like  Wheeling,  Parkersburg,  Point 
Pleasant,  and  Maysville  are  very  nearly  an 
offset  to  Steubenville,  Marietta,  Pomeroy, 


158  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

Ironton,  and  Portsmouth.  North-shore  towns 
of  wealth  and  prominence  are  more  numerous 
than  on  the  Dixie  bank,  and  are  as  a  rule 
larger  and  somewhat  better  kept,  with  the 
negro  element  less  conspicuous;  but  to  say 
that  the  difference  is  anywhere  near  as  marked 
as  the  landlord  averred,  or  as  my  own  previous 
reading  on  the  subject  led  me  to  expect,  is 
grossly  to  exaggerate. 

After  leaving  Manchester,  O.  (394  miles), 
with  a  beautiful  island  at  its  door,  there  are 
spasmodic  evidences  of  the  nearness  of  a 
great  city  market.  A  large  proportion  of  the 
hills  are  completely  denuded  of  their  timber, 
and  patched  with  rectangular  fields  of  green, 
brown,  and  yellow;  upon  the  bottoms  there 
are  frequent  truck  farms;  now  and  then  are 
stone  quarries  upon  the  banks,  with  capacious 
barges  moored  in  front;  and  upon  one  or  two 
rocky  ledges  were  stone-crushers,  getting  out 
material  for  concrete  pavements.  When  we 
ask  the  bargemen,  in  passing,  whither  their 
loads  are  destined,  the  invariable  reply  is, 
' '  The  city  " — meaning  Cincinnati,  still  seventy 
miles  away. 

Limestone  Creek  (405  miles)  occupies  a  large 
space  in  Western  story,  for  so  insignificant 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  159 

a  stream.  It  is  now  not  over  a  rod  in  width, 
and  at  no  season  can  it  be  over  two  or  three. 
One  finds  it  with  difficulty  along  the  mill- 
strewn  shore  of  Maysville,  Ky.,  the  modern 
outgrowth  of  the  Limestone  village  of  pioneer* 
days.  Limestone,  settled  four  years  before 
Marietta  or  Cincinnati,  was  long  Kentucky's 
chief  port  of  entry  on  the  Ohio;  immigrants 
to  the  new  state,  who  came  down  the  Ohio, 
almost  invariably  booked  for  this  point,  thence 
taking  stage  to  Lexington,  and  travelers  in  the 
early  day  seldom  passed  it  by  unvisited.  But 
years  before  there  was  any  settlement  here, 
the  valley  of  Limestone  Creek,  which  comes 
gently  down  from  low-lying  hills,  was  regarded 
as  a  convenient  doorway  into  Kentucky. 
When  (1776)  George  Rogers  Clark  was  com- 
ing down  the  river  from  Pittsburg,  with  pow- 
der given  by  Patrick  Henry,  then  governor  of 
Virginia,  for  the  defence  of  Kentucky  settlers 
from  British-incited  savages,  he  was  chased 
by  the  latter,  and,  putting  into  this  creek, 
hastily  buried  the  precious  cargo  on  its  banks. 
From  here  it  was  cautiously  taken  overland 
to  the  little  forts,  by  relays  of  pioneers,  through 
a  gauntlet  of  murderous  fire. 

About   twenty-five   miles  from   Limestone, 


160  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

too,  was  another  attraction  of  the  early  time, — 
the  great  Blue  Lick  sulphur  spring;  here,  in  a 
valley  surrounded  by  wooded  hills,  formerly 
congregated  great  herds  of  buffalo  and  deer, 
'which  licked  the  salty  earth,  and  hunters  soon 
learned  that  this  was  a  royal  ground  for  game. 
The  Battle  of  the  Blue  Lick  (1782)  will  ever 
be  famous  in  the  annals  of  Kentucky. 

The  Ohio  was  a  mighty  waterway  into  the 
continental  interior,  in  the  olden  days  of  Lime- 
stone. Its  only  compeer  was  the  so-called 
"Wilderness  Road,"  overland  through  Cum- 
berland Gap — the  successor  of  ' '  Boone's  trail, " 
just  as  Braddock's  Road  was  the  outgrowth  of 
' '  Nemacolin's  path. "  Until  several  years  after 
the  Revolutionary  War,  the  country  north  of 
the  Ohio  was  still  Indian  land,  and  settlement 
was  restricted  to  the  region  south  of  the  river; 
so  that  practically  all  West-going  roads  from 
the  coast  colonies  centered  either  on  Fort 
Pitt  or  Redstone,  or  on  Cumberland  Gap.  On 
the  out-going  trip,  the  Wilderness  Road  was 
the  more  toilsome  of  the  two,  but  it  was  safer, 
for  the  Ohio's  banks  were  beset  with  thieving 
and  often  murdering  savages.  In  returning 
east,  many  who  had  descended  the  river  pre- 
ferred going  overland  through  the  Gap,  to 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  161 

painfully  pulling  up  stream  through  the  shal- 
lows, with  the  danger  of  Indians  many  times 
greater  than  when  gliding  down  the  deep  cur- 
rent. The  distance  over  the  two  routes  from 
Philadelphia,  was  nearly  equal,  when  the  wind- 
ings of  the  river  were  taken  into  account;  but 
the  Carolinians  and  the  Georgians  found 
Boone's  Wilderness  Road  the  shorter  of  the 
two,  in  their  migrations  to  the  promised  land 
of  "Ol'  Kaintuck."  And  we  should  not  over- 
look the  fact,  that  of  much  importance  was 
still  a  third  route,  up  the  James  and  down  the 
Great  Kanawha;  a  route  whose  advantage  to 
Virginia,  Washington  early  saw,  and  tried  in 
vain  to  have  improved  by  a  canal  connecting 
the  two  rivers.  * 

Even  before  the  opening  of  the  Revolution, 
the  Ohio  was  the  path  of  a  considerable  emi- 
gration. We  have  seen  Washington  going 
down  to  the  Great  Kanawha  with  his  survey- 
ing party,  in  1770,  and  finding  that  settlers 
were  hurrying  into  the  country  for  a  hundred 
miles  below  Fort  Pitt.  By  the  close  of  the 
Revolution,  the  Ohio  was  a  familiar  stream. 
Pittsburg,  from  a  small  trading  hamlet  and 

*See  ante,  p.   126. 
it 


162  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

fording-place,  had  grown  by  1785  to  have  a 
thousand  inhabitants,  chiefly  supported  by 
boat-building  and  the  Kentucky  carrying  trade; 
and  boat-yards  were  common  up  both  the 
Monongahela  and  the  Youghiogheny,  for  a 
distance  of  sixty  miles.  Nevertheless,  it  was 
not  until  1 792  that  there  were  regular  conven- 
iences for  carrying  passengers  and  freight  down 
the  Ohio;  the  emigrant  or  trader,  on  arrival 
at  Pittsburg  or  Redstone,  had  generally  to 
wait  until  he  could  either  charter  a  boat  or 
have  one  built  for  him,  although  sometimes  he 
found  a  chance  "passenger  flat"  going  down.* 
This  difficulty  in  securing  river  transportation 
was  one  of  the  reasons  why  the  majority  chose 
the  Wilderness  Road. 

' '  The  first  thing  that  strikes  a  stranger  from 
the  Atlantic,"  says  Flint  (1814),  "is  the  sin- 
gular, whimsical,  and  amusing  spectacle  of  the 
varieties  of  water-craft,  of  all  shapes  and 
structures."  These,  Flint,  who  knew  the 

*Palmer  (1817)  paid  five  dollars  for  his  passage  from  Pitts- 
burg  to  Cincinnati  (465  miles),  without  food,  and  fifty  cents 
per  hundred  pounds  for  freight  to  Marietta.  Imlay  (1792) 
says  the  rate  in  his  time  from  Pittsburg  to  Limestone  was 
twenty-five  cents  per  hundred.  In  1803,  Harris  paid  four 
dollars-and-a-half  per  hundred  for  freight,  by  wagon  from 
Baltimore  to  Pittsburg. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  163 

river  well,  separates  into  seven  classes:  (i) 
"Stately  barges,"  the  size  of  an  Atlantic 
schooner,  with  "a  raised  and  outlandish-look- 
ing deck;"  one  of  these  required  a  crew  of 
twenty-five  to  work  it  up  stream.  (2)  Keel- 
boats — long,  slender,  and  graceful  in  form, 
carrying  from  fifteen  to  thirty  tons,  easily  pro- 
pelled over  the  shallows,  and  much  used  in 
low  water,  and  in  hunting  trips  to  Missouri, 
Arkansas,  and  the  Red  River  country.  (3) 
Kentucky  flats  (or  "broad-horns"),  "a  species 
of  ark,  very  nearly  resembling  a  New  England 
pig-stye;"  these  were  from  forty  to  a  hundred 
feet  in  length,  fifteen  feet  in  beam,  and  car- 
ried from  twenty  to  seventy  tons.  Some  of 
these  flats  were  not  unlike  the  house-boats  of 
to-day.  "  It  is  no  uncommon  spectacle  to  see 
a  large  family,  old  and  young,  servants,  cattle, 
hogs,  horses,  sheep,  fowls,  and  animals  of  all 
kinds,"  all  embarked  on  one  such  bottom.  (4) 
Covered  "sleds,"  ferry-flats,  or  Alleghany 
skiffs,  carrying  from  eight  to  twelve  tons.  (5) 
Pirogues,  of  from  two  to  four  tons  burthen, 
"sometimes  hollowed  from  one  big  tree,  or 
the  trunks  of  two  trees  united,  and  a  plank 
rim  fitted  to  the  upper  part."  (6)  Common 
skiffs  and  dug-outs.  (7)  "Monstrous  anom- 


164  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

alies, "  not  classifiable,  and  often  whimsical  in 
design.  To  these  might  be  added  the  "float- 
ing shops  or  stores,  with  a  small  flag  out  to  indi- 
cate their  character,"  so  frequently  seen  by 
Palmer  (1817),  and  thriftily  surviving  unto  this 
day,  minus  the  flag.  And  Hall  (1828)  speaks  of  a 
flat-bottomed  row-boat,  ' 'twelve  feet  long,  with 
high  sides  and  roof,"  carrying  an  aged  couple 
down  the  river,  they  cared  not  where,  so  long 
as  they  could  find  a  comfortable  home  in  the 
West,  for  their  declining  and  now  childless 
years. 

The  first  four  classes  here  enumerated,  were 
allowed  to  drift  down  stream  with  the  current, 
being  steered  by  long  sweeps  hung  on  pivots. 
The  average  speed  was  about  three  miles  an 
hour,  but  the  distances  made  were  consider- 
able, from  the  fact  that  in  the  earliest  days 
they  were,  from  fear  of  Indians,  usually  kept 
on  the  move  through  day  and  night, — the 
crew  taking  turns  at  the  sweeps,  that  the  craft 
might  not  be  hung  up  on  shore  or  entangled 
in  the  numerous  snags  and  sawyers.  In  going 
up  stream,  the  sweeps  served  as  oars,  and  in 
the  shallows  long  pushing-poles  were  used. 

As  for  the  boatmen  who  professionally  pro- 
pelled the  keels  and  flats  of  the  Ohio,  they 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  165 

were  a  class  unto  themselves — "half  horse, 
half  alligator,"  a  contemporary  styled  them. 
Rough  fellows,  much  given  to  fighting,  and 
drunkenness,  and  ribaldry,  with  a  genius  for 
coarse  drollery  and  stinging  repartee.  The 
river  towns  suffered  sadly  at  the  hands  of  this 
lawless,  dissolute  element.  Each  boat  carried 
from  thirty  to  forty  boatmen,  and  a  number 
of  such  boats  frequently  traveled  in  company. 
After  the  Indian  scare  was  over,  they  generally 
stopped  over  night  in  the  settlements,  and  the 
arrival  of  a  squadron  was  certain  to  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  disturbance  akin  to  those  so  familiar 
a  few  years  ago  in  our  Southwest,  when  the 
cowboys  would  undertake  to  "paint  a  town 
red."  The  boatmen  were  reckless  of  life, 
limb,  and  reputation,  and  were  often  more 
numerous  than  those  of  the  villagers  who  cared 
to  enforce  the  laws;  while  there  was  always 
present  an  element  which  abetted  and  throve 
on  the  vice  of  the  river-men.  The  result  was 
that  mischief,  debauchery,  and  outrage  ran 
riot,  and  in  the  inevitable  fights  the  citizens 
were  generally  beaten. 

The  introduction  of  steamboats  (1814)  soon 
effected  a  revolution.  A  steamer  could  carry 
ten  times  as  much  as  a  barge,  could  go  five 


166  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

times  as  fast,  and  required  fewer  men;  it  trav- 
eled at  night,  quickly  passing  from  one  port 
to  another,  pausing  only  to  discharge  or  re- 
ceive cargo;  its  owners  and  officers  were  men 
of  character  and  responsibility,  with  much 
wealth  in  their  charge,  and  insisted  on  disci- 
pline and  correct  deportment.  The  flatboat 
and  the  keel-boat  were  soon  laid  up  to  rot  on 
the  banks;  and  the  boatmen  either  became 
respectable  steamboat  hands  and  farmers,  or 
went  into  the  Far  West,  where  wild  life  was 
still  possible. 

Shipment  on  the  river,  in  the  flatboat  days, 
was  only  during  the  spring  and  autumnal 
floods;  although  an  occasional  summer  rise, 
such  as  we  are  now  getting,  would  cause  a 
general  activity.  In  the  autumn  of  1818, 
Hall  reports  that  three  millions  of  dollars' 
worth  of  merchandise  were  lying  on  the  shores 
of  the  Monongahela,  waiting  for  a  rise  of  water 
to  float  them  to  their  destination.  "The 
Western  merchants  were  lounging  discontent- 
edly about  the  streets  of  Pittsburg,  or  moping 
idly  in  its  taverns,  like  the  victims  of  an  ague." 
The  steamers  did  something  to  alleviate  this 
condition  of  affairs;  but  it  was  not  until  the 
coming  of  railways,  to  carry  goods  quickly  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  167 

cheaply  across  country  to  deep-water  ports 
like  Wheeling,  that  permanent  relief  was  felt. 

But  what  of  the  Maysville  of  to-day?  It 
extends  on  both  sides  of  Limestone  Creek  for 
about  two  miles  along  the  Kentucky  shore,  at 
no  point  apparently  over  five  squares  wide, 
and  for  the  most  part  but  two  or  three;  for 
back  of  it  forested  hills  rise  sharply.  There 
is  a  variety  of  industries,  the  business  quarter 
is  substantially  built,  and  there  are  numerous 
comfortable  homes  with  pretty  lawns. 

On  the  opposite  shore  is  Aberdeen,  where 
Kentucky  swains  and  lasses,  who  for  one  rea- 
son or  another  fail  to  get  a  license  at  home, 
find  marriage  made  easy — a  peaceful,  pleasant, 
white  village,  with  trees  a-plenty,  and  roman- 
tic hills  shutting  out  the  north  wind. 

We  are  camped  to-night  on  a  picturesque 
sand-slope,  at  the  foot  of  a  willow-edged  bot- 
tom, and  some  seven  feet  above  the  river  level. 
We  need  to  perch  high,  for  the  storm  has  been 
general  through  the  basin,  and  the  Ohio  is 
rising  steadily. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

PRODUCE  BOATS — A  DEAD  TOWN — ON  THE 
GREAT  BEND — GRANT'S  BIRTHPLACE — THE 
LITTLE  MIAMI — THE  GENESIS  OF  CINCIN- 
NATI. 

POINT  PLEASANT,  O.,  Wednesday,  May 
23rd. — The  river  rose  three  feet  during  the 
night.  Steamers  go  now  at  full  speed,  no 
longer  fearing  the  bars;  and  the  swash  upon 
shore  was  so  violent  that  I  was  more  than 
once  awakened,  each  time  to  find  the  water 
line  creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  tent 
door.  As  we  sweep  onward  to-day,  upon  an 
accelerated  current,  the  fringing  willows, 
whose  roots  before  the  rise  were  many  feet  up 
the  slopes  of  sand  and  gravel,  are  gracefully 
dipping  their  boughs  in  the  rushing  flood. 
With  the  rise,  come  the  sweepings  of  the 
beaches — bits  of  lumber,  fallen  trees,  barrels, 
boxes,  'longshore  rubbish  of  every  sort;  some- 
times it  hangs  in  ragged  rafts,  and  we  steer 
clear  of  such,  for  Pilgrim's  progress  is  greater 
than  that  of  these  unwelcome  companions  of 
168 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  169 

the  voyage,  and  we  wish  no  entangling  alli- 
ances. 

Much  tobacco  is  raised  on  the  rounded, 
gently-sloping  hills  below  Maysville.  Away 
up  on  the  acclivities,  in  sheltered  spots  near 
the  fields  in  which  they  are  to  be  transplanted, 
or  in  fence-corners  in  the  ever-broadening 
bottoms,  we  note  white  patches  of  thin  cloth 
pinned  down  over  the  young  plants  to  protect 
them  from  untoward  frosts.  There  are  many 
tobacco  warehouses  to  be  seen  along  the 
banks — apparently  farmers  cooperate  in  main- 
taining such;  and  in  front  of  each,  a  roadway 
leads  down  to  the  water's  edge,  indicating  a 
steamboat  landing.  On  the  town  wharves  are 
often  seen  portly  barrels, — locally,  "punch- 
eons,"— filled  with  the  weed,  awaiting  ship- 
ment by  boat;  most  of  the  product  goes  to 
Louisville,  but  there  are  also  large  buyers  in 
the  smaller  Kentucky  towns. 

Occasionally,  to-day,  we  have  seen  moored 
to  some  rustic  landing  a  great  covered  barge, 
quite  of  the  fashion  of  the  golden  age  of  Ohio 
boating.  At  one  end,  a  room  is  partitioned 
off  to  serve  as  cabin,  and  the  sweeps  are  oper- 
ated from  the  roof.  These  are  produce- 
boats,  which  are  laden  with  coarse  vegetables 


170  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

and  sometimes  live  stock,  and  floated  down 
to  Cincinnati  or  Louisville,  and  even  to  St. 
Louis  and  New  Orleans.  In  ante-bellum 
days,  produce-boats  were  common  enough, 
and  much  money  was  made  by  speculative 
buyers  who  would  dispose  of  their  cargo  in 
the  most  favorable  port,  sell  the  barge,  and 
then  return  by  rail  or  steamer;  just  as,  in 
still  earlier  days,  the  keel  or  flatboat  owner 
would  sell  both  freight  and  vessel  on  the 
Lower  Mississippi, — or  abandon  the  craft  if 
he  could  not  sell  it, — and  "hoof  it  home,"  as 
a  contemporary  chronicler  puts  it. 

Ripley,  Levanna  (417  miles),  Higginsport 
(421  miles),  Chilo  (431  miles),  Neville  (435 
miles),  and  Point  Pleasant  (442  miles)  are  the 
Ohio  towns  to-day;  and  Dover  (417  miles), 
Augusta  (424  miles),  and  Foster  (435  miles), 
their  rivals  on  the  Kentucky  shore.  Saw- 
mills and  distilleries  are  the  leading  industries, 
and  there  are  broad  paved  wharves;  but  a 
listless  air  pervades  them  all,  as  if  once  they 
basked  in  the  light  of  better  days.  Foster  is 
rather  the  shabbiest  of  the  lot.  As  I  passed 
through  to  find  the  postorfice,  at  the  upper 
edge  of  town,  where  the  hills  come  down 
to  meet  the  bottom,  I  saw  that  half  of  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  171 

store  buildings  still  intact  were  closed,  many 
dwellings  and  warehouses  were  in  ruins,  and 
numerous  open  cellars  were  grown  to  grass 
and  weeds.  Few  people  were  in  sight,  and 
they  loafing  at  the  corners.  The  postoffice 
occupied  a  vacated  store,  evidently  not  swept 
these  six  months  past.  The  youthful  master, 
with  chair  tilted  back  and  his  feet  on  an  old 
washstand  which  did  duty  as  office  table,  was 
listlessly  whittling  a  finger-ring  from  a  peach- 
stone;  but  shoving  his  feet  along,  he  made 
room  for  me  to  write  a  postal  card  which  I 
had  brought  for  the  purpose. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  this  town?"  I 
asked,  as  I  scratched  away. 

'"Daid,  I  reck'n!"  and  he  blew  away  the 
peach-stone  dust  which  had  accumulated  in 
the  folds  of  his  greasy  vest. 

"Yes,  I  see  it  is  dead.     What  killed  it?" 

"Oh!  just  gone  daid — sort  o'  nat'ral  daith, 
I  reck'n." 

We  had  a  pretty  view  this  morning,  three 
or  four  miles  below  Augusta,  from  the  top  of 
a  tree-denuded  Kentucky  hill,  some  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  high.  Hauling  Pilgrim 
into  the  willows,  we  set  out  over  a  low,  culti- 
vated bottom,  whose  edges  were  being  lapped 


172  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

by  the  rising  river,  to  the  detriment  of  the 
springing  corn;  then  scrambling  up  the  ter- 
race on  which  the  Chesapeake  &  Ohio  railway 
runs,  we  crawled  under  a  barb-wire  fence, 
and  ascended  through  a  pasture,  our  right  of 
way  contested  for  a  moment  by  a  gigantic 
Berkshire  boar,  which  was  not  easily  van- 
quished. When  at  last  we  gained  the  top,  by 
dint  of  clambering  over  rail-fences  and  up 
steep  slopes  bestrewn  with  mulleins  and  boul- 
ders, and  over  patches  of  freshly-plowed 
hardscrabble,  the  sight  was  well  worth  the 
rough  climb.  The  broad  Ohio  bottom,  op- 
posite, was  thick-dotted  with  orchard  clumps, 
from  which  rose  the  white  houses  and  barns 
of  small  tillers.  On  the  generous  slopes  of 
the  Kentucky  hills,  all  corrugated  with  wooded 
ravines,  were  scores  of  fertile  farmsteads, 
each  with  its  ample  tobacco  shed — the  bet- 
ter class  of  farmers  on  the  hilltops,  their 
buildings  often  silhouetted  against  the  western 
sky,  and  the  meaner  sort  down  low  on  the 
river's  bank.  Through  this  pastoral  scene, 
the  broad  river  winds  with  noble  sweep,  until, 
both  above  and  below,  it  loses  itself  in  the 
purple  mist  of  the  distant  hills. 

We  are  now  upon  the  Great  Bend  of  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  173 

Ohio,  beginning  at  Neville  (435  miles)  and 
ending  at  Harris's  Landing  (519  miles),  with 
North  Bend  (482  miles)  at  the  apex.  The 
bend  is  itself  a  series  of  convolutions,  and  our 
point  of  view  is  ever  changing,  so  that  we 
have  kaleidoscopic  vistas, — and  with  each  new 
setting,  good-humoredly  dispute  with  each 
other,  we  at  the  oars,  and  the  others  in  the 
stern-sheets,  as  to  which  is  the  more  beautiful, 
the  unfolding  or  the  dissolving  view. 

Our  camp  to-night  is  beside  a  little  hillside 
torrent  on  the  lower  edge  of  Point  Pleasant. 
We  are  well  up  on  the  rocky  slope;  an  aban- 
doned stone-quarry  lies  back  of  us,  up  the  hill 
a  bit;  and  leading  into  the  village,  half  a  mile 
away,  is  a  picturesque  country  road,  overhung 
with  sumacs  and  honey  locusts — overtopped 
on  one  side  by  a  precipitous  pasture,  and  on 
the  other  dropping  suddenly  to  a  beach  thick- 
grown  to  willows,  maples,  and  scrub  syca- 
mores. 

The  Boy  and  I  made  an  expedition  into  the 
town,  for  milk  and  water,  but  were  obliged  to 
climb  one  of  the  sharpest  ascents  hereabout, 
before  our  search  was  rewarded.  A  pretty 
little  farmstead  it  is,  up  there  on  the  lofty  hill 
above  us,  with  a  wealth  of  chickens  and  an 


174  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ample  dairy,  and  fat  fields  and  woods  gently 
sloping  backward  into  the  interior.  The  good 
farm-wife  was  surprised  that  I  was  willing  to 
"pack"  commodities,  so  plentiful  with  her, 
down  so  steep  a  path;  but  canoeing  pilgrims 
must  not  falter  at  trifles  such  as  this. 

Point  Pleasant  is  the  birthplace  of  General 
Grant.  Not  every  hamlet  has  its  hero,  here- 
about. Everyone  we  met  this  evening, — 
seeing  we  were  strangers,  the  Boy  and  I,  — told 
us  of  this  halo  which  crowns  their  home. 

CINCINNATI,  Thursday,  May  24th. — During 
the  night  there  were  frequent  heavy  downpours, 
during  which  the  swollen  torrent  by  our  side 
roared  among  its  boulders  right  lustily;  and 
occasionally  a  heavy  farm-wagon  crossed  the 
country  bridge  which  spans  the  ravine  just 
above  us,  its  rumblings  echoing  in  the  quarried 
glen  for  all  the  world  like  distant  thunder. 
Before  turning  in,  each  built  a  cairn  upon  the 
beach,  at  the  point  which  he  thought  the 
water  might  reach  by  morning.  The  Boy, 
more  venturesome  than  the  rest,  piled  his 
cairn  highest  up  the  slope;  and  when  daylight 
revealed  the  fact  that  the  river,  in  its  four-feet 
rise,  had  crept  nearest  his  goal,  there  was 
much  juvenile  rejoicing. 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  175 

There  is  a  gray  sky,  this  morning.  With  a 
cold  headwind  on  the  starboard  quarter,  we 
hug  the  lee  of  the  Ohio  shore.  The  river  is 
well  up  in  the  willows  now.  Crowding  Pil- 
grim as  closely  as  we  may,  within  the  narrow 
belt  of  unruffled  water,  our  oars  are  swept  by 
their  bending  boughs,  which  lightly  tremble 
on  the  surface  of  the  flood.  The  numerous 
rock-cumbered  ravines,  coursing  down  the 
hills  or  through  the  bottom  lands,  a  few  days 
since  held  but  slender  streams,  or  were,  the 
most  of  them,  wholly  dry;  but  now  they  are 
brimming  with  noisy  currents  all  flecked  with 
foam — pretty  pictures,  these  yawning  gullies, 
overhung  with  cottonwoods  and  sycamores, 
with  thick  undergrowth  of  green-brier  and 
wild  columbine,  and  the  yellow  buds  of  the 
celandine  poppy. 

The  hills  are  showing  better  cultivation,  as 
we  approach  the  great  city.  The  farm-houses 
are  in  better  style,  the  market  gardens  larger, 
prosperity  more  evident.  Among  the  pleasing 
sights  are  frequent  farmsteads  at  the  summits 
of  the  slopes,  with  orchards  and  vineyards,  and 
gardens  and  fields,  stretching  down  almost  to 
the  river — quite,  indeed,  on  the  Ohio  side,  but  in 
Kentucky  flanked  at  the  base  by  the  railway 


176  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

terrace.  Numerous  ferries  connect  the  Ken- 
tucky railway  stations  with  the  eastern  bank ; 
one,  which  we  saw  just  above  New  Richmond, 
O.  (446  miles),  was  run  by  horse  power,  a 
weary  nag  in  a  tread-mill  above  each  side- 
paddle.  Although  Kentucky  has  the  railway, 
there  is  just  here  apparent  a  greater  degree  of 
thrift  in  Ohio — the  towns  more  numerous, 
fields  and  truck-gardens  more  ample,  on  the 
whole  a  better  class  of  farm-houses,  and  fre- 
quently, along  the  country  road  which  closely 
skirts  the  shore,  comfortable  little  broad-bal- 
conied inns,  dependent  on  the  trade  of  fishing 
and  outing  parties. 

Just  below  the  Newport  waterworks  are 
several  coal-barge  harbors — mooring-grounds 
where  barges  lie  in  waiting,  until  hauled  off 
by  tugs  to  the  storage  wharves.  In  the  rear 
of  one  of  these  fleets,  at  the  base  of  a  market 
garden,  we  found  a  sunny  nook  for  lunch — for 
here  on  the  Kentucky  side  the  cold  wind  has 
full  sweep,  and  we  are  glad  of  shelter  when  at 
rest.  Across  the  river  is  a  broad,  low  bottom 
given  up  to  market  gardeners,  who  jealously 
cultivate  down  to  the  water's  edge,  leaving  the 
merest  fringe  of  willows  to  protect  their  do- 
main. At  the  foot  of  this  fertile  plain,  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  177 

Little  Miami  River  (460  miles)  pours  its  muddy 
contribution  into  the  Ohio;  and  beyond  this 
rises  the  amphitheater  of  hills  on  which  Cin- 
cinnati (466  miles)  is  mainly  built.  We  see 
but  the  outskirts  here,  for  two  miles  below  us 
there  is  a  sharp  bend  in  the  river,  and  only  a 
dark  pall  of  smoke  marks  where  the  city  lies. 
But  these  outlying  slopes  are  well  dotted  with 
gray  and  white  groups  of  settlement,  separated 
by  stretches  of  woodland  over  which  play 
changing  lights,  for  cloud  masses  are  sweeping 
the  Ohio  hills  while  we  are  still  basking  in 
the  sun. 

Above  us,  crowning  the  Kentucky  ascents, 
or  nestled  on  their  wooded  shoulders,  are  many 
beautiful  villas,  evidently  the  homes  of  the 
ultra-wealthy.  Close  at  hand  we  have  the 
pleasant  chink-chink  of  caulking  hammers,  for 
barges  are  built  and  repaired  in  this  snug  har- 
bor. Now  and  then  a  river  tug  comes,  with 
noisy  bluster  of  smoke  and  steam,  and  amid 
much  tightening  and  slackening  of  rope,  and 
wild  profanity,  takes  captive  a  laden  barge, — 
as  a  cowboy  might  a  refractory  steer  in  the 
midst  of  a  herd, — and  hauls  it  off  to  be  dis- 
gorged down  stream.  And  just  as  we  conclude 
our  lunch,  German  women  come  with  hoes  to 

12 


178  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

practice  the  gentle  art  of  horticulture — a  char- 
acteristic conglomeration,  in  the  heart  of  our 
busy  West;  the  millionaire  on  the  hill-top,  the 
tiller  on  the  slope,  shipwright  on  the  beach, 
and  grimy  Commerce  master  of  the  flood. 

Setting  afloat  on  a  boiling  current,  thick 
with  driftwood,  we  soon  were  coursing  be- 
tween city-lined  shores — on  the  Kentucky 
side,  Newport  and  Covington,  respectively 
above  and  below  Licking  River;  and  in  an 
hour  were  making  our  way  through  the  laby- 
rinth of  steamers  thickly  moored  with  their 
noses  to  land,  and  cautiously  creeping  around 
to  a  quiet  spot  at  the  stern  of  a  giant  wharf- 
boat — no  slight  task  this,  with  the  river  ' '  on 
the  jump,"  and  a  false  move  liable  to  swamp 
us  if  we  strike  an  obstruction  at  full  gait.  No 
doubt  we  all  breathed  freer  when  Pilgrim,  too, 
was  beached, — although  it  be  only  confessed 
in  the  privacy  of  the  log.  With  her  and  her 
cargo  safely  stored  in  the  wharf-boat,  we 
sought  a  hotel,  and,  regaining  our  bag  of 
clothing, — shipped  ahead  of  us  from  McKee's 
Rocks, — donned  urban  attire  for  an  inspection 
of  the  city. 

And  a  noble  city  it  is,  that  has  grown  out 
of  the  two  block-houses  which  George  Rogers 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  179 

Clark  planted  here  in  1780,  on  his  raid  against 
the  Indians  of  Chillicothe.  In  1788,  John 
Cleves  Symmes,  the  first  United  States  judge 
of  the  Northwest  Territory,  purchased  from 
Congress  a  million  acres  of  land,  lying  on  the 
Ohio  between  the  two  Miami  Rivers.  Mat- 
thias Denman  bought  from  him  a  square  mile 
at  the  eastern  end  of  the  grant,  <lon  a  most 
delightful  high  bank"  opposite  the  Licking, 
and — on  a  cash  valuation  for  the  land,  of  two 
hundred  dollars — took  in  with  him  as  partners 
Robert  Patterson  and  John  Filson.  Filson 
was  a  schoolmaster,  had  written  the  first  his- 
tory of  Kentucky,  and  seems  to  have  enjoyed 
much  local  distinction.  To  him  was  entrusted 
the  task  of  inventing  a  name  for  the  settle- 
ment which  the  company  proposed  to  plant 
here.  The  outcome  was  "Losantiville,"  a 
pedagogical  hash  of  Greek,  Latin,  and  French: 
L,  for  Licking;  os,  mouth;  anti,  opposite; 
v ille,  city — Licking-opposite-City,  or  City-op- 
posite-Licking,  whichever  is  preferred.  This 
was  in  August.  The  Fates  work  quickly,  for 
in  October  poor  Filson  was  scalped  by  the 
Indians  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Big  Miami, 
before  a  settler  had  yet  been  enticed  to  Lo- 
santiville.  But  the  survivors  knew  how  to 


180  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

"boom"  a  town;  lots  were  given  away  by 
lottery  to  intending  actual  settlers;  and  in  a 
few  months  Symmes  was  able  to  write  that 
"It  populates  considerably." 

A  few  weeks  previous  to  the  planting  of 
Losantiville,  a  party  of  men  from  Redstone 
had  settled  Columbia,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Little  Miami,  about  where  the  suburb  of  Cal- 
ifornia now  is;  and,  a  few  weeks  later,  a  third 
colony  was  started  by  Symmes  himself  at 
North  Bend,  near  the  Big  Miami,  at  the  west- 
ern extremity  of  his  grant;  and  this,  the 
judge  wished  to  make  the  capital  of  the  new 
Northwest  Territory.  At  first,  it  was  a  race 
between  these  three  colonies.  A  few  miles 
below  North  Bend,  Fort  Finney  had  been 
built  in  1785-86,  hence  the  Bend  had  at  first 
the  start;  but  a  high  flood  dampened  its  pros- 
pects, the  troops  were  withdrawn  from  this 
neighborhood  to  Louisville,  and  in  the  winter 
of  1 789-90  Fort  Washington  was  built  at  Lo- 
santiville by  General  Harmar.  The  neighbor- 
hood of  the  new  fortress  became,  in  the  ensu- 
ing Indian  war,  the  center  of  the  district. 

To  Losantiville,  with  its  fort,  came  Arthur 
St.  Clair,  the  new  governor  of  the  Northwest 
Territory  (January,  1790);  and,  making  his 
headquarters  here,  laid  violent  hands  on  Fil- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  181 

son's  invention,  at  once  changing  the  name 
to  Cincinnati,  in  honor  of  the  Society  of  the 
Cincinnati,  of  which  the  new  official  was  a 
prominent  member — "so  that,"  Symmes  sor- 
rowfully writes,  "  Losantiville  will  become 
extinct."  Five  years  of  Indian  campaigning 
followed,  the  features  of  which  were  the  crush- 
ing defeats  of  Harmar  and  St.  Clair,  and  the 
final  victory  of  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  at  Fallen 
Timbers.  It  was  not  until  the  Treaty  of 
Greenville  (1795),  the  result  of  Wayne's  bril- 
liant dash  into  the  wilderness,  that  the  Rev- 
olutionary War  may  properly  be  said  to  have 
ended  in  the  West. 

Those  were  stirring  times  on  the  Ohio,  both 
ashore  and  afloat;  but,  amidst  them  all,  Cin- 
cinnati grew  apace.  Ellicott,  in  1796,  speaks 
of  it  as  "a  very  respectable  place,"  and  in 
1814,  Flint  found  it  the  only  port  that  could 
be  called  a  town,  from  Steubenville  to  Nat- 
chez, a  distance  of  fifteen  hundred  miles;  in 
1825  he  reports  it  greatly  grown,  and  crowded 
with  immigrants  from  Europe  and  from  our 
own  Eastern  states.  The  impetus  thus  early 
gained  has  never  lessened,  and  Cincinnati  is 
to-day  one  of  the  best  built  and  most  substan- 
tial cities  in  the  Union. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  STORY  OF  NORTH  BEND — THE  « '  SHAKES" — 
DRIFTWOOD — RABBIT  HASH — A  SIDE-TRIP 
TO  BIG  BONE  LICK. 

NEAR  PETERSBURG,  KY.,  Friday,  May 
25th. — This  morning,  an  hour  before  noon,  as 
we  looked  upon  the  river  from  the  top  of  the 
Cincinnati  wharf,  a  wild  scene  presented  itself. 
The  shore  up  and  down,  as  far  as  could  be 
seen,  was  densely  lined  with  packets  and 
freighters;  beyond  them,  the  great  stream, 
here  half  a  mile  wide,  was  rushing  past  like  a 
mill-race,  and  black  with  all  manner  of  drift, 
some  of  it  formed  into  great  rafts  from  each  of 
which  sprawled  a  network  of  huge  branches. 
Had  we  been  strangers  to  this  offscouring  of  a 
thousand  miles  of  beach,  swirling  past  us  at  a 
six-mile  gait,  we  might  well  have  doubted  the 
prudence  of  launching  little  Pilgrim  upon  such 
a  sea.  But  for  two  days  past,  we  had  been 
amidst  something  of  the  sort,  and  knew  that 
to  cautious  canoeists  it  was  less  dangerous 

than  it  appeared. 

182 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  183 

A  strong  head  wind,  meeting  this  surging 
tide,  is  lashing  it  into  a  white-capped  fury. 
But  lying  to  with  paddle  and  oars,  and  dodging 
ferries  and  towing-tugs  as  best  we  may,  Pilgrim 
bears  us  swiftly  past  the  long  line  of  steamers 
at  the  wharf,  past  Newport  and  Covington, 
and  the  insignificant  Licking,*  and  out  under 
great  railway  bridges  which  cobweb  the  sky. 
Soon  Cincinnati,  shrouded  in  smoke,  has  dis- 
appeared around  the  bend,  and  we  are  in  the 
fast-thinning  suburbs — homes  of  beer-gardens 
and  excursion  barges,  havens  for  freight-flats, 
and  villas  of  low  and  high  degree. 

When  we  are  out  here  in  the  swim,  the 
drift-strewn  stream  has  a  more  peaceful  aspect 
than  when  looked  at  from  the  shore.  Instead 
of  rushing  past  as  if  dooming  to  destruction 
everything  else  afloat,  the  debris  falls  behind, 
when  we  row,  for  our  progress  is  then  the 
greater.  Dropping  our  oars,  our  gruesome 
companions  on  the  river  pass  us  slowly,  for 
they  catch  less  wind  than  we;  and  then,  so 
silent  the  steady  march  of  all,  we  seem  to  be 
drifting  up-stream,  until  on  glancing  at  the 
shore  the  hills  appear  to  be  swiftly  going  down 

*So  called  from  the  Big  Buffalo  Lick,  upon  its  banks. 


184  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

and  the  willow  fringes  up, — until  the  sight 
makes  us  dizzy,  and  we  are  content  to  be  at 
quits  with  these  optical  delusions. 

We  no  longer  have  the  beach  of  gravel  or 
sand,  or  strip  of  clay  knee-deep  in  mud.  The 
water,  now  twelve  feet  higher  than  before  the 
rise,  has  covered  all;  it  is,  indeed,  swaying  the 
branches  of  sycamores  and  willows,  and  meet- 
ing the  edges  of  the  corn-fields  of  venturesome 
farmers  who  have  cultivated  far  down,  taking 
the  risk  of  a  "June  fresh."  Often  could  we, 
if  we  wished,  row  quite  within  the  bulwark  of 
willows,  where  a  week  ago  we  would  have 
ventured  to  camp. 

The  Kentucky  side,  to-day,  from  Covington 
out,  has  been  thoroughly  rustic,  seldom  broken 
by  settlement;  while  Ohio  has  given  us  a  suc- 
cession of  suburban  towns  all  the  way  out  to 
North  Bend  (482  miles),  which  is  a  small  man- 
ufacturing place,  lying  on  a  narrow  bottom  at 
the  base  of  a  convolution  of  gentle,  wooded 
hills.  One  sees  that  Cincinnati  has  a  better 
and  a  broader  base;  North  Bend  was  handi- 
capped by  nature,  in  its  early  race. 

When  Ohio  came  into  the  Union  (1803),  it 
was  specified  that  the  boundary  between  her 
and  Indiana  should  be  a  line  running  due 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  185 

north  from  the  mouth  of  the  Big  Miami.  But 
the  latter,  an  erratic  stream,  frequently  the 
victim  of  floods,  comes  wriggling  down  to  the 
Ohio  through  a  broad  bottom  grown  thick  to 
willows,  and  in  times  of  high  water  its  mouth 
is  a  changeable  locality.  The  boundary  mon- 
ument is  planted  on  the  meridian  of  what  was 
the  mouth,  ninety-odd  years  ago;  but  to-day 
the  Miami  breaks  through  an  opening  in  the 
quivering  line  of  willow  forest,  a  hundred  yards 
eastward  (487  miles). 

Garrison  Creek  is  a  modest  Kentucky  afflu- 
ent, just  above  the  Miami's  mouth.  At  the 
point,  a  group  of  rustics  sat  on  a  log  at  the 
bank-top,  watching  us  approach.  Landing  in 
search  of  milk  and  water,  I  was  taken  by  one 
of  them  in  a  lumbersome  skiff  a  short  distance 
up  the  creek,  and  presented  to  his  family. 
They  are  genuine  "crackers,"  of  the  coarsest 
type — tall,  lean,  sallow,  fishy-eyed,  with  tow- 
colored  hair,  an  ungainly  gait,  barefooted,  and 
in  nondescript  clothing  all  patches  and  tatters. 
The  tousle-headed  woman,  surrounded  by  her 
copies  in  miniature,  keeps  the  milk  neatly,  in 
an  outer  dairy,  perhaps  because  of  market 
requirements;  but  in  the  crazy  old  log-house, 
pigs  and  chickens  are  free  comers,  and  the 


186  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

cistern  from  which  they  drink  is  foul.  Here 
in  this  damp,  low  pocket  of  a  bottom,  annually 
flooded  to  the  door-sill,  in  the  midst  of  veg- 
etation of  the  rankest  order,  and  quite  un- 
heedful  of  the  simplest  of  sanitary  laws,  these 
yellow-skinned  "crackers"  are  cradled,  wed- 
ded, and  biered.  And  there  are  thousands 
like  unto  them,  for  we  are  now  in  the  heart  of 
the  "shake"  country,  and  shall  hear  enough 
of  the  plague  through  the  remainder  of  our 
pilgrimage.  As  for  ourselves,  we  fear  not,  for 
it  is  not  until  autumn  that  danger  is  imminent, 
and  we  are  taking  due  precaution  under  the 
Doctor's  guidance. 

Two  miles  beyond,  is  the  Indiana  town  of 
Lawrenceburg,  with  the  unkempt  aspect  so 
common  to  the  small  river  places;  and  two 
miles  still  farther,  on  a  Kentucky  bottom, 
Petersburg,  whose  chiefest  building,  as  viewed 
from  the  stream,  is  a  huge  distillery.  On  a 
high  sandy  terrace,  a  mile  or  so  below,  we 
pitch  our  nightly  camp.  All  about  are  wil- 
lows, rustling  musically  in  the  evening  breeze, 
and,  soaring  far  aloft,  the  now  familiar  syca- 
mores. Nearly  opposite,  in  Indiana,  the  little 
city  of  Aurora  is  sparkling  with  points  of  light, 
strains  of  dance  music  reach  us  over  the  way, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  187 

and  occasional  shouts  and  gay  laughter;  while 
now  and  then,  in  the  thickening  dusk  of  the 
long  day,  we  hear  skiffs  go  chucking  by  from 
Petersburg  way,  and  the  gleeful  voices  of  men 
and  women  doubtless  being  ferried  to  the  ball. 

NEAR  WARSAW,  KY.,  Saturday,  May  26th. — 
Our  first  mosquito  appeared  last  night,  but  he 
was  easily  slaughtered.  It  has  been  a  com- 
fort to  be  free,  thus  far,  from  these  pests  of 
camp  life.  We  had  prepared  for  them  by 
laying  in  a  bolt  of  black  tarlatan  at  Wheel- 
ing,— greatly  superior  this,  to  ordinary  white 
mosquito  bar, — but  thus  far  it  has  remained 
in  the  shopman's  wrapper. 

The  fog  this  morning  was  of  the  heaviest. 
At  4  o'clock  we  were  awakened  by  the  sharp 
clanging  of  a  pilot's  signal  bell,  and  there, 
poking  her  nose  in  among  our  willows,  a  dozen 
feet  from  the  tent,  was  the  "Big  Sandy,"  one 
of  the  St.  Louis  &  Cincinnati  packet  line. 
She  had  evidently  lost  her  bearings  in  the 
mist;  but  with  a  deal  of  ringing,  and  a  noisy 
churning  of  the  water  by  the  reversed  paddle- 
wheel,  pulled  out  and  disappeared  into  the 
gloom. 

The  river,  still  rising,  is  sweeping  down  an 


188  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ever-increasing  body  of  rubbish.  Islands  and 
beaches,  away  back  to  the  Alleghanies  on  the 
main  stream,  and  on  thousands  of  miles  of 
affluents,  are  yielding  up  those  vast  rafts  of 
drift-wood  and  fallen  timber,  which  have  con- 
tinually impressed  us  on  our  way  with  a 
sense  of  the  enormous  wastage  everywhere  in 
progress — necessary,  of  course,  in  view  of  the 
prohibitive  cost  of  transportation.  Neverthe- 
less, one  thinks  pitifully  of  the  tens  of  thou- 
sands who,  in  congested  districts,  each  winter 
suffer  unto  death  for  want  of  fuel;  and  here  is 
this  wealth  of  forest  debris,  the  useless  play- 
thing of  the  river.  But  not  only  wreckage  of 
this  character  is  borne  upon  the  flood.  The 
thievish  river  has  picked  up  valuable  saw-logs 
that  have  run  astray,  lumber  of  many  sorts, 
boxes,  barrels — and  now  and  then  the  body  of 
a  cow  or  horse  that  has  tumbled  to  its  death 
from  some  treacherous  clay-cliff  or  rocky  ter- 
race. The  beaches  have  been  swept  clean  by 
the  rushing  flood,  of  whatever  lay  upon  them, 
be  it  good  or  bad,  for  the  great  scavenger  ex- 
ercises no  discretion. 

The  bulk  of  the  matter  now  follows  the 
current  in  an  almost  solid  raft,  as  it  caroms 
from  shore  to  shore.  Having  swift  water 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  189 

everywhere  at  this  stage,  for  the  most  part  we 
avoid  entangling  Pilgrim  in  the  procession, 
but  row  upon  the  outskirts,  interested  in  the 
curious  medley,  and  observant  of  the  many 
birds  which  perch  upon  the  branches  of  the 
floating  trees  and  sing  blithely  on  their  way. 
The  current  bears  hard  upon  the  Aurora 
beach,  and  townsfolk  by  scores  are  out  in 
skiffs  or  are  standing  by  the  water's  edge,  en- 
gaged with  boat-hooks  in  spearing  choice 
morsels  from  the  debris  rushing  by  their 
door — heaping  it  upon  the  shore  to  dry,  or 
gathering  it  in  little  rafts  which  they  moor 
to  the  bank.  It  is  a  busy  scene;  the  wreckers, 
men,  women,  and  children  alike,  are  so  en- 
gaged in  their  grab-bag  game  that  they  have 
no  eyes  for  us;  unobserved,  we  watch  them 
at  close  range,  and  speculate  upon  their  re- 
spective chances. 

Rabbit  Hash,  Ky.  (502  miles),  is  a  crude 
hamlet  of  a  hundred  souls,  lying  nestled  in  a 
green  amphitheater.  A  horse-power  ferry  runs 
over  to  the  larger  village  of  Rising  Sun,  its 
Indiana  neighbor.  There  is  a  small  general 
store  in  Rabbit  Hash,  with  postoffice  and 
paint-shop  attachment,  and  near  by  a  tobacco 
warehouse  and  a  blacksmith  shop,  with  a  few 


190  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

cottages  scattered  at  intervals  over  the  bot- 
tom. The  postmaster,  who  is  also  the  store- 
keeper and  painter,  greeted  me  with  joy,  as 
I  deposited  with  him  mail-matter  bearing 
eighteen  cents' worth  of  stamps;  for  his  is  one 
of  those  offices  where  the  salary  is  the  value 
of  the  stamps  cancelled.  It  is  not  every  day 
that  so  liberal  a  patron  comes  along. 

"Jemimi!  Bill!  but  guv'm'nt  business  's 
look'n'  up — there'll  be  some  o'  th'  rest  o'  us 
a-want'n'  this  yere  off'c',  a'ter  nex'  'lection,  I 
reck'n'." 

It  was  the  blacksmith,  who  is  also  the  ferry- 
man, who  thus  bantered  the  delighted  post- 
master,— a  broad-faced,  big-chested,  brown- 
armed  man,  with  his  neck-muscles  standing 
out  like  cords,  and  his  mild  blue  eyes  dancing 
with  fun,  this  rustic  disciple  of  Tubal  Cain. 
He  sat  just  without  the  door,  leather  apron  on, 
and  his  red  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up,  playing 
checkers  on  an  upturned  soap-box,  with  a  jolly 
fat  farmer  from  the  hill-country,  whose  broad 
straw  hat  was  cocked  on  the  back  of  his  bald 
head.  The  merry  laughter  of  the  two  was  in- 
fectious. The  half-dozen  spectators,  small 
farmers  whose  teams  and  saddle-horses  were 
hitched  to  the  postoffice  railing,  were  them- 


AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO  191 

selves  hilarious  over  the  game;  and  a  saffron- 
skinned,  hollow-cheeked  woman  in  a  blue  sun- 
bonnet,  and  with  a  market-basket  over  her  arm, 
stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  threshold  to  look 
on,  and  then  passed  within  the  store,  her 
eyes  having  caught  the  merriment,  although 
her  facial  muscles  had  apparently  lost  their 
power  of  smiling. 

Joining  the  little  company,  I  found  that  the 
farmer  was  a  blundering  player,  but  made  up 
in  fun  what  he  lacked  in  science.  I  tried  to 
ascertain  the  origin  of  the  name  Rabbit  Hash, 
as  applied  to  the  hamlet.  Every  one  had  a 
different  opinion,  evidently  invented  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment,  but  all  "  'lowed"  that 
none  but  the  tobacco  agent  could  tell,  and  he 
was  off  in  the  country  for  the  day;  as  for  them- 
selves, they  had,  they  confessed,  never  thought 
of  it  before.  It  always  had  been  Rabbit  Hash, 
and  like  enough  would  be  to  the  end  of  time. 

We  are  on  the  lookout  for  Big  Bone  Creek, 
wishing  to  make  a  side  trip  to  the  famous  Big 
Bone  Lick,  but  among  the  many  openings 
through  the  willows  of  the  Kentucky  shore  we 
may  well  miss  it,  hence  make  constant  inquiry 
as  we  proceed.  There  was  a  houseboat  in 
the  mouth  of  one  goodly  affluent.  As  we  hove 


192  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

in  sight,  a  fat  woman,  whose  gunny-sack  apron 
was  her  chief  attire,  hurried  up  the  gang-plank 
and  disappeared  within. 

"Hello,  the  boat!"  one  of  us  hailed. 

The  woman's  fuzzy  head  appeared  at  the 
window. 

"What  creek  is  this?" 

(i  Gunpowder,  I  reck'n!" — in  a  deep,  man- 
like voice. 

"How  far  below  is  Big  Bone?" 

"Jist  a  piece!" 

"How  many  miles?" 

"Two,  I  reck'n." 

Big  Bone  Creek  (512  miles),  some  fifty  or 
sixty  feet  wide  at  the  mouth,  opens  through  a 
willow  patch,  between  pretty,  sloping  hills. 
A  houseboat  lay  just  within — a  favorite  situa- 
tion for  them,  these  creek  mouths,  for  here 
they  are  undisturbed  by  steamer  wakes,  and 
the  fishing  is  usually  good.  The  proprietor,  a 
rather  distinguished-looking  mulatto,  despite 
his  old  clothes  and  plantation  straw-hat,  was 
sitting  in  a  chair  at  his  cabin  door,  angling; 
his  white  wife  was  leaning  over  him  lovingly, 
as  we  shot  into  the  scene,  but  at  once  with- 
drew inside.  This  man,  with  his  side-whiskers 
and  fine  air,  may  have  been  a  head-waiter  or 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  193 

a  dance-fiddler  in  better  days;  but  his  soft, 
plaintive  voice,  and  hacking  cough,  bespoke 
the  invalid.  He  told  us  what  he  knew  about 
the  creek,  which  was  little  enough,  as  he  had 
but  recently  come  to  these  parts. 

At  an  ordinary  stage  in  the  Ohio,  the  Big 
Bone  cannot  be  ascended  in  a  skiff  for  more 
than  half  a  mile;  now,  upon  the  backset,  we 
are  able  to  proceed  for  two  miles,  leaving  but 
another  two  miles  of  walking  to  the  Lick  itself. 
The  creek  curves  gracefully  around  the  bases 
of  the  sugar-loaf  hills  of  the  interior.  Under 
the  swaying  arch  of  wiUows,  and  of  ragged, 
sprawling  sycamores,  their  bark  all  patched 
with  green  and  gray  and  buff  and  white,  we 
have  charming  vistas — the  quiet  water,  thick 
grown  with  aquatic  plants;  the  winding  banks, 
bearing  green-dragons  and  many  another  flower 
loving  damp  shade;  the  frequent  rocky  pal- 
isades, oozing  with  springs;  and  great  blue 
herons,  stretching  their  long  necks  in  wonder, 
and  then  setting  off  with  a  stately  flight  which 
reminds  one  of  the  cranes  on  Japanese  ware. 
Through  the  dense  fringe  of  vegetation,  we 
have  occasional  glimpses  of  the  hillside  farms — 
their  sloping  fields  sprinkled  with  stones,  their 
often  barren  pastures,  numerous  abandoned 
13 


194  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

tracts  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  blue-grass 
lush  in  the  meadows.  Along  the  edges  of 
the  Creek,  and  in  little  pocket  bottoms,  the 
varied  vegetation  has  a  sub-tropical  luxuriance, 
and  in  this  now  close,  warm  air,  there  is  a  rank 
smell  suggestive  of  malaria. 

These  bottoms  are  annually  overflowed,  so 
that  the  crude  little  farmsteads  are  on  the 
rising  ground — whitewashed  cabins,  many  of 
them  of  logs,  serve  as  houses;  for  stock,  there 
are  the  veriest  shanties,  affording  practically 
no  shelter;  best  of  all,  the  rude  tobacco-dry- 
ing sheds,  in  many  of  .which  some  of  last  year's 
crop  can  still  be  seen,  hanging  on  the  strips. 
We  are  out  of  the  world,  here;  and  barefooted 
men  and  boys,  who  with  listless  air  are  fishing 
from  the  banks,  gaze  at  us  in  dull  wonder  as 
we  thread  our  tortuous  way. 

Finally,  we  learned  that  we  could  with  profit 
go  no  higher.  Before  us  were  two  miles  of 
what  was  described  as  the  roughest  sort  of  hill 
road,  and  the  afternoon  sun  was  powerful;  so 
W —  accepted  the  invitation  of  a  rustic  fisher- 
man to  rest  with  his  "women  folks"  in  a  little 
cabin  up  the  hill  a  bit.  Seeing  her  safely 
housed  with  the  good-natured  ' '  cracker  "  farm- 
wife,  the  Doctor,  the  Boy,  and  I  trudged  off 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  195 

toward  Big  Bone  Lick.  The  waxy  clay  of  the 
roadbed  had  recently  been  wetted  by  a  shower; 
the  walking,  consequently,  was  none  of  the 
best.  But  we  were  repaid  with  charming 
views  of  hill  and  vale,  a  softly-rolling  scene 
dotted  with  little  gray  and  brown  fields,  clumps 
of  woodland,  rail-fenced  pastures,  and  cabins 
of  the  crudest  sort — for  in  the  autumn-tide, 
the  curse  of  malaria  haunts  the  basin  of  the 
Big  Bone,  and  none  but  he  of  fortune  spurned 
would  care  here  in  this  beauty-spot  to  plant 
his  vine  and  fig-tree.  Now  and  then  our  path 
leads  us  across  the  winding  creek,  which  in 
these  upper  reaches  tumbles  noisily  over  ledges 
of  jagged  rock,  above  which  luxuriant  syca- 
mores, and  elms,  and  maples  arch  gracefully. 
At  each  picturesque  fording-place,  with  its 
inevitable  watering-pool,  are  stepping-stones 
for  foot  pilgrims;  often  a  flock  of  geese  are 
sailing  in  the  pool,  with  craned  necks  and 
flapping  wings  hissing  defiance  to  disturbers 
of  their  sylvan  peace. 

The  travelers  we  meet  are  on  horseback — 
most  of  them  the  yellow-skinned,  hollow- 
cheeked  folk,  with  lack-luster  eyes,  whom  we 
note  in  the  cabin  doors,  or  dawdling  about 
their  daily  routine.  On  nearing  the  Lick, 


196  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

two  young  horsewomen,  out  of  the  common, 
look  interestedly  at  us,  and  I  stop  to  inquire 
the  way,  although  the  village  spire  is  peering 
above  the  tree-tops  yonder.  Pretty,  buxom, 
sweet-faced  lassies,  these,  with  soft,  pleasant 
voices,  each  with  her  market-basket  over  her 
arm,  going  homeward  from  shopping.  It 
would  be  interesting  to  know  their  story — 
what  it  is  that  brings  these  daughters  of  a 
brighter  world  here  into  this  valley  of  the  liv- 
ing death. 

Two  hundred  yards  farther,  where  the  road 
forks,  and  the  one  at  the  right  hand  ascends 
to  the  small  hamlet  of  Big  Bone  Lick,  there  is 
an  interesting  picture  beneath  the  way-post:  a 
girl  in  a  blue  calico  gown,  her  face  deep  hidden 
in  her  red  sunbonnet,  sits  upon  a  chestnut 
mount,  with  a  laden  market-basket  before  her; 
while  by  her  side,  astride  a  coal-black  pony, 
which  fretfully  paws  to  be  on  his  way,  is  a 
roughly  dressed  youth,  his  face  shaded  by  a 
broad  slouched  hat  of  the  cowboy  order. 
They  have  evidently  met  there  by  appoint- 
ment, and  are  so  earnestly  conversing — she 
with  her  hand  resting  lovingly,  perhaps  dep- 
recatingly,  upon  his  bridle-arm,  and  his  free 
hand  nervously  stroking  her  horse's  mane, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  197 

while  his  eyes  are  far  afield — that  they  do  not 
observe  us  as  we  pass;  and  we  are  free  to 
weave  from  the  incident  any  sort  of  cracker 
romance  which  fancy  may  dictate. 

The  source  of  Big  Bone  Creek  is  a  marshy 
basin  some  fifty  acres  in  extent,  rimmed  with 
gently-sloping  hills,  and  freely  pitted  with 
copious  springs  of  a  water  strongly  sulphurous 
in  taste,  with  a  suggestion  of  salt.  The  odor 
is  so  powerful  as  to  be  all-pervading,  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away,  and  to  be  readily  detected  at 
twice  that  distance.  This  collection  of  springs 
constitutes  Big  Bone  Lick,  probably  the  most 
famous  of  the  many  similar  licks  in  Kentucky, 
Indiana,  and  Illinois. 

The  salt  licks  of  the  Ohio  basin  were  from 
the  earliest  times  resorted  to  in  great  numbers 
by  wild  beasts,  and  were  favorite  camping- 
grounds  for  Indians,  and  for  white  hunters 
and  explorers.  This  one  was  first  visited  by 
the  French  as  early  as  1729,  and  became 
famous  because  of  the  great  quantities  of  re- 
mains of  animals  which  lay  all  over  the  marsh, 
particularly  noticeable  being  the  gigantic  bones 
of  the  extinct  mammoth — hence  the  name 
adopted  by  the  earliest  American  hunters, 
"Big  Bone."  These  monsters  had  evidently 


198  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

been  mired  in  the  swamp,  while  seeking  to 
lick  the  salty  mud,  and  died  in  their  tracks. 
Pioneer  chronicles  abound  in  references  to  the 
Lick,  and  we  read  frequently  of  hunting-par- 
ties using  the  ribs  of  the  mammoth  for  tent 
poles,  and  sections  of  the  vertebrae  as  camp 
stools  and  tables.  But  in  our  own  day,  there 
are  no  surface  evidences  of  this  once  rich 
treasure  of  giant  fossils;  although  occasionally 
a  "find  "  is  made  by  enterprising  excavators, — 
several  bones  having  thus  been  unearthed  only 
a  week  ago.  They  are  now  on  exhibition  in 
the  neighboring  village,  preparatory  to  being 
shipped  to  an  Eastern  museum. 

As  we  hurried  back  over  the  rolling  highway, 
thunder-clouds  grandly  rose  out  of  the  west, 
and  great  drops  of  rain  gave  us  moist  warning 
of  the  coming  storm.  W —  was  watching  us 
from  the  cabin  door,  as  we  made  the  last 
turning  in  the  road,  and,  accompanied  by  the 
farm-wife  and  her  two  daughters,  came  trip- 
ping down  to  the  landing.  She  had  been 
entertained  in  the  one  down-stairs  room,  as 
royally  as  these  honest  cracker  women-folk 
knew  how;  seated  in  the  family  rocking-chair, 
she  had  heard  in  those  two  hours  the  social 
gossip  of  a  wide  neighborhood;  learned,  too, 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  199 

that  the  cold,  wet  weather  of  the  last  fort- 
night had  killed  turkey-chicks  and  goslings  by 
the  score;  heard  of  the  damage  being  done  to 
corn  and  tobacco,  by  the  prevalent  high  water; 
was  told  how  Bess  and  Brindle  fared,  off  in 
the  rocky  pasture  which  yields  little  else  than 
mulleins;  and  how  far  back  Towser  had  to  go, 
to  claim  relationship  to  a  collie.  "And 
weren't  we  really  show-people,  going  down 
the  river  this  way,  in  a  skiff?  or,  if  we  weren't 
show-people,  had  we  an  agency  for  something? 
or,  were  we  only  in  trade?"  It  seems  a  diffi- 
cult task  to  make  these  people  on  the  bottoms 
believe  that  we  are  skiffing  it  for  pleasure — it 
is  a  sort  of  pleasure  so  far  removed  from  their 
notions  of  the  fitness  of  things;  and  so  at  last 
we  have  given  up  trying,  and  let  them  think 
of  our  pilgrimage  what  they  will. 

The  entire  family  now  assembled  on  the 
muddy  bank,  and  bade  us  a  really  affectionate 
farewell,  as  if  we  had  been,  in  this  isolated 
corner  of  the  world,  most  welcome  guests  who 
were  going  all  too  soon.  In  a  few  strokes 
of  the  oars  we  were  rounding  the  bend;  and 
waving  our  hands  at  the  little  knot  of  watch- 
ers, went  forth  from  their  lives,  doubtless 
forever. 


^          200  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

The  storm  soon  burst  upon  us  in  full  fury. 
Clad  in  rubber,  we  rested  under  giant  trees,  or 
beneath  projecting  rock  ledges,  taking  advan- 
tage of  occasional  lulls  to  push  on  for  a  few 
rods  to  some  new  shelter.  The  numerous 
little  hillside  runs  which,  in  our  journey  up, 
were  but  dry  gullies  choked  with  leaves  and 
boulders,  were  now  brimming  with  muddy  tor- 
rents, rushing  all  foam-flecked  and  with  deaf- 
ening roar  into  the  central  stream.  At  last 
the  cloud  curtain  rolled  away,  the  sun  gushed 
out  with  fiery  rays,  the  arch  of  foliage  sparkled 
with  splendor — in  meadow  and  on  hillside,  the 
face  of  Nature  was  cleanly  beautiful. 

At  the  creek  mouth,  the  distinguished  mu- 
latto still  was  fishing  from  his  chair,  and  stand- 
ing by  his  side  was  his  wife  throwing  a  spoon. 
They  nodded  to  us  pleasantly,  as  old  friends 
returned.  Gliding  by  their  boat,  Pilgrim  was 
soon  once  more  in  the  full  current  of  the  swift- 
flowing  Ohio. 

We  are  high  up  to-night,  on  a  little  grass 
terrace  in  Kentucky,  two  miles  above  Warsaw. 
The  usual  country  road  lies  back  of  us,  a  rod 
or  two,  and  then  a  slender  field  surmounted 
by  a  woodland  hill.  Fortune  favors  us,  almost 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  201 

nightly,  with  beautiful  abiding-places.  In  no 
place  could  we  sleep  more  comfortably  than 
in  our  cotton  home. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

NEW     SWITZERLAND  —  AN     OLD-TIME    RIVER 
PILOT — HOUSEBOAT   LIFE,   ON    THE   LOWER 

REACHES A  PHILOSOPHER  IN  RAGS — WOOD- 

ED  SOLITUDES ARRIVAL  AT  LOUISVILLE. 

NEAR  MADISON,  IND.,  Sunday,  May  2/th. — 
At  supper  last  night,  a  houseboat  fisherman, 
going  by  in  his  skiff,  parted  the  willows  fring- 
ing our  beach,  and  offered  to  sell  us  some  of 
his  wares.  We  bought  from  him  a  two-pound 
catfish,  which  he  tethered  to  a  bush  overhang- 
ing the  water,  until  we  were  ready  to  dress  it; 
giving  us  warning,  that  meanwhile  it  would  be 
best  to  have  an  eye  on  our  purchase,  or  the 
turtles  would  devour  it.  Hungry  thieves,  these 
turtles,  the  fisherman  said;  you  could  leave 
nothing  edible  in  water  or  on  land,  unpro- 
tected, without  constant  fear  of  the  reptiles — 
which  reminds  me  that  yesterday  the  Doctor 
and  the  Boy  found  on  the  beach  a  beautiful 
box  tortoise. 

Our  fish  was  swimming  around  finely,  at 
202 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  203 

the  end  of  his  cord,  when  the  executioner  ar- 
rived, and  when  finally  hung  up  in  a  tree  was 
safe  from  the  marauders.  This  morning  the 
fisherman  was  around  again,  hoping  to  obtain 
another  dime  from  the  commissariat;  but 
though  we  had  breakfasted  creditably  from 
the  little  "cat,"  we  had  no  thought  of  stock- 
ing our  larder  with  his  kind.  So  the  grizzly 
man  of  nets  took  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco,  and 
sat  a  while  in  his  boat,  l<pass'n'  th'  time  o' 
day"  with  us,  punctuating  his  remarks  with 
frequent  expectorations. 

The  new  Kentucky  houseboat  law  taxes  each 
craft  of  this  sort  seven-and-a-half  dollars,  he 
said:  five  dollars  going  to  the  State,  and  the 
remainder  to  the  collector.  There  was  to  be 
a  patrol  boat,  "to  see  that  th'  fellers  done 
step  to  th'  cap'n's  office  an'  settle."  But  the 
houseboaters  were  going  to  combine  and  fight 
the  law  on  constitutional  grounds,  for  they  had 
been  told  that  it  was  clearly  an  interference 
with  commerce  on  a  national  highway.  As 
for  the  Houseboaters  voting — well,  some  of 
them  did,  but  the  most  of  them  didn't.  The 
Indiana  registry  law  requires  a  six  months' 
residence,  and  in  Kentucky  it  is  a  full  year,  so 
that  a  houseboat  man  who  moves  about  any, 


204  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

"  jes'  isn't  in  it,  sir,  thet's  all."  However,  our 
visitor  was  not  much  disturbed  over  the  prac- 
tical disfranchisement  of  his  class — it  seemed, 
rather,  to  amuse  him;  he  was  much  more  con- 
cerned in  the  new  tax,  which  he  thought  an 
outrageous  imposition.  In  bidding  us  a  cheery 
good-bye,  he  noticed  my  kodak.  "Yees  be 
one  o'  them  photygraph  parties,  hey?"  and 
laughed  knowingly,  as  though  he  had  caught 
me  in  a  familiar  trick.  No  child  of  nature  so 
simple,  in  these  days,  as  not  to  recognize  a 
kodak. 

Warsaw,  Ky.  (524  miles),  just  below,  has 
some  bankside  evidences  of  manufacturing,  but 
on  the  whole  is  rather  down  at  the  heel.  A 
contrast  this,  to  Vevay  (533  miles),  on  the 
Indiana  shore,  which,  though  a  small  town  on 
a  low-lying  bottom,  is  neat  and  apparently 
prosperous.  Vevay  was  settled  in  1803,  by 
John  James  Dufour  and  several  associates, 
from  the  District  of  Vevay,  in  Switzerland, 
who  purchased  from  Congress  four  square 
miles  hereabout,  and,  christening  it  New  Swit- 
zerland, sought  to  establish  extensive  vineyards 
in  the  heart  of  this  middle  West.  The  Swiss 
prospered.  The  colony  has  had  sufficient  vi- 
tality to  preserve  many  of  its  original  charac- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  205 

teristics  unto  the  present  day.  Much  of  the 
land  in  the  neighborhood  is  still  owned  by  the 
descendants  of  Dufour  and  his  fellows,  but  the 
vineyards  are  not  much  in  evidence.  In  fact, 
the  grape-growing  industry  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ohio,  although  commenced  at  different 
points  with  great  promise,  by  French,  Swiss, 
Germans,  and  Americans  alike,  has  not  real- 
ized their  expectations.  The  Ohio  has  proved 
to  be  unlike  the  Rhine  in  this  respect.  In  the 
long  run,  the  vine  in  America  appears  to  fare 
better  in  a  more  northern  latitude. 

Three  miles  above  Vevay,  near  Plum  Creek, 
I  was  interested  in  the  Indiana  farm  upon 
which  Heathcoat  Picket  settled  in  1795 — some 
say  in  1 790.  In  his  day,  Picket  was  a  notable 
flatboat  pilot.  He  was  credited  with  having 
conducted  more  craft  down  the  river  to  New  Or- 
leans, than  any  other  man  of  his  time — going 
down  on  the  boat,  and  returning  on  foot.  It  is 
said  that  he  made  over  twenty  trips  of  this  char- 
acter, which  is  certainly  a  marvelous  record  at  a 
time  when  there  were  only  Indian  trails  through 
the  more  than  a  thousand  miles  of  dense  forest 
between  Vevay  and  New  Orleans,  and  when  a 
savage  enemy  might  be  expected  to  lurk  be- 
hind any  tree,  ready  to  slay  the  rash  pale-face. 


206  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

Picket's  must  have  been  a  life  of  continuous 
adventure,  as  thrilling  as  the  career  of  Daniel 
Boone  himself;  yet  he  is  now  known  to  but  a 
local  antiquarian  or  two,  and  one  stumbles 
across  him  only  in  foot-notes.  The  border 
annals  of  the  West  abound  with  incidents  as 
romantic  as  any  which  have  been  applauded 
by  men.  Daniel  Boone  is  not  the  only  hero 
of  the  frontier;  he  is  not  even  the  chief  hero, — 
he  is  but  a  type,  whom  an  accident  of  litera- 
ture has  made  conspicuous. 

The  Kentucky  River  (541  miles)  enters  at 
Carrollton,  Ky. , — a  well-to-do  town,  with 
busy-looking  wharves  upon  both  streams, — 
through  a  wide  and  rather  uninteresting  bot- 
tom. But,  over  beyond  this,  one  sees  that  it 
has  come  down  through  a  deep-cut  valley, 
rimmed  with  dark,  rolling  hills,  which  speak 
eloquently  of  a  diversified  landscape  along  its 
banks.  The  Indian  Kentucky,  a  small  stream 
but  half-a-dozen  rods  wide,  enters  from  the 
north,  five  miles  below — "Injun  Kaintuck,"  it 
was  called  by  a  jovial  junk-boat  man  stationed 
at  the  mouth  of  the  tributary.  There  are,  on 
the  Ohio,  several  examples  of  this  peculiar 
nomenclature:  a  river  enters  from  the  south, 
and  another  affluent  coming  in  from  the  north, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  207 

nearly  opposite,  will  have  the  same  name  with 
the  prefix  "Indian."  The  reason  is  obvious; 
the  land  north  of  the  Ohio  remained  Indian 
territory  many  years  after  Kentucky  and  Vir- 
ginia were  recognized  as  white  man's  country, 
hence  the  convenient  distinction — the  river 
coming  in  from  the  north,  near  the  Kentucky, 
for  instance,  became  "Indian  Kentucky,"  and 
so  on  through  the  list. 

Houseboats  are  less  frequent,  in  these 
reaches  of  the  river.  The  towns  are  fewer 
and  smaller  than  above;  consequently  there 
is  less  demand  for  fish,  or  for  desultory  labor. 
Yet  we  seldom  pass  a  day,  in  the  most  rustic 
sections,  without  seeing  from  half-a-dozen  to 
a  dozen  of  these  craft.  Sometimes  they  are 
a  few  rods  up  the  mouths  of  tributaries,  half 
hidden  by  willows  and  overhanging  sycamores; 
or,  in  picturesque  little  openings  of  the  willow 
fringe  along  the  main  shore;  or,  boldly  planted 
at  the  base  of  some  rocky  ledge.  At  the 
towns,  they  are  variously  situated:  in  the 
water,  up  the  beach  a  way,  or  high  upon  the 
bottom,  whither  some  great  flood  has  carried 
them  in  years  gone  by.  Occasionally,  when 
high  and  dry  upon  the  land,  they  have  a  bit 
of  vegetable  garden  about  them,  rented  for  a 


208  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

time  from  the  farmer;  but,  even  with  the 
floaters,  chickens  are  commonly  kept,  gener- 
ally in  a  coop  on  the  roof,  connected  with  the 
shore  by  a  special  gang-plank  for  the  fowls; 
and  the  other  day,  we  saw  a  thrifty  house- 
boater  who  had  several  colonies  of  bees. 

There  was  a  rise  of  only  two  feet,  last  night; 
evidently  the  flood  is  nearly  at  its  greatest. 
We  are  now  twenty  feet  above  the  level  of  ten 
days  ago,  and  are  frequently  swirling  along 
over  what  were  then  sharp,  stony  slopes,  and 
brushing  the  topmost  boughs  of  the  lower 
lines  of  willows  and  scrub  sycamores.  Thus 
we  have  a  better  view  of  the  country;  and, 
approaching  closely  to  the  banks,  can  from 
our  seats  at  any  time  pluck  blue  lupine  by  the 
armful.  It  thrives  mightily  on  these  grav- 
elled shores,  and  so  do  the  bignonia  vine,  the 
poison  ivy,  and  the  Virginia  creeper.  The 
hills  are  steeper,  now,  especially  in  Indiana; 
many  of  them,  although  stony,  worked-out, 
and  almost  worthless,  are  still,  in  patches, 
cultivated  to  the  very  top;  but  for  the  most 
part  they  are  clothed  in  restful  green.  Over- 
head, in  the  summer  haze,  turkey-buzzards 
wheel  gracefully,  occasionally  chased  by  au- 
dacious hawks;  and  in  the  woods,  we  hear  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  209 

warble  of  song-birds.  Shadowy,  idle  scenes, 
these  rustic  reaches  of  the  lower  Ohio,  through 
which  man  may  dream  in  Nature's  lap,  all 
regardless  of  the  workaday  world. 

It  was  early  evening  when  we  passed  Madi- 
son, Ind.  (553  miles),  a  fairly-prosperous  fac- 
tory town  of  about  twelve  thousand  souls. 
Scores  of  the  inhabitants  were  out  in  boats, 
collecting  driftwood;  and  upon  the  wharf  was 
a  great  crowd  of  people,  waiting  for  an  excur- 
sion boat  which  was  to  return  them  to  Louis- 
ville, whence  they  had  come  for  a  day's  outing. 
It  was  a  lifeless,  melancholy  party,  as  excur- 
sion folk  are  apt  to  be  at  the  close  of  a  gala 
day,  and  they  wearily  stared  at  us  as  we  pad- 
dled past. 

Just  below,  on  the  Kentucky  shore,  on  my 
usual  search  for  milk  and  water,  I  landed  at  a 
cluster  of  rude  cottages  set  in  pleasant  market 
gardens.  While  the  others  drifted  by  with 
Pilgrim,  I  had  a  goodly  walk  before  finding 
milk,  for  a  cow  is  considered  a  luxury  among 
these  small  riverside  cultivators;  the  man  who 
owns  one  sells  rnilk  to  his  poorer  neighbors. 
Such  a  nabob  was  at  last  found.  The  animal 
was  called  down  from  the  rocky  hills,  by  her 
barefooted  owner,  who,  lank  and  malaria- 

M 


210  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

skinned,  leaned  wearily  against  the  well-curb, 
while  his  wife,  also  guiltless  of  hose  and  shoes, 
milked  into  my  pail  direct  from  the  lean  and 
hungry  brindle. 

By  the  time  the  crew  were  reunited,  storm- 
clouds,  thick  and  black,  were  fast  rising  in  the 
west.  Scudding  down  shore  for  a  mile,  with 
oars  and  paddle  aiding  the  swift  current,  we 
failed  to  find  a  proper  camping-place  on  the 
muddy  bank  of  the  far-stretching  bottom. 
Rain-drops  were  now  pattering  on  our  rubber 
spreads,  and  it  was  evident  that  a  blow  was 
coming;  but  despite  this,  we  bent  to  the  work 
with  renewed  vigor,  and  shot  across  to  the  lee 
shore  of  Indiana — finally  landing  in  the  midst 
of  a  heavy  shower,  and  hurriedly  pitching 
tent  on  a  rocky  slope  at  the  base  of  a  vertical 
bank  of  clay.  Above  us,  a  government  bea- 
con shines  brightly  through  the  persistent 
storm,  with  the  keeper's  neat  little  house  and 
garden  a  hundred  yards  away.  In  the  tree- 
tops,  up  a  heavily-forested  hill  beyond,  the 
wind  moans  right  dismally.  In  this  sheltered 
nook,  we  shall  be  but  lulled  to  sleep  with  the 
ceaseless  pelting  of  the  rain. 

LOUISVILLE,  Monday,  May  28th. — At  mid- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  211 

night,  the  heavens  cleared,  with  a  cold  north 
wind;  the  early  morning  atmosphere  was 
nipping,  and  we  were  glad  of  the  shelter  of 
the  tent  during  breakfast.  The  river  fell  eight 
inches  during  the  night,  and  on  either  bank  is 
a  muddy  strip,  which  will  rapidly  widen  as 
the  water  goes  down. 

Below  us,  twenty  rods  or  so,  moored  to  the 
boulder-strewn  shore,  was  a  shanty-boat.  In 
the  bustle  of  landing,  last  night,  we  had  not 
noticed  this  neighbor,  and  it  was  pitch-dark 
before  we  had  time  to  get  our  bearings.  I 
think  it  is  the  most  dilapidated  affair  we  have 
seen  on  the  river — the  frame  of  the  cabin  is 
out  of  plurnb,  old  clothes  serve  for  sides  and 
flap  loudly  in  the  wind;  while  two  little  boys, 
who  peered  at  us  through  slits  in  the  airy  walls, 
looked  fairly  miserable  with  cold. 

The  proprietor  of  the  craft  came  up  to  visit 
us,  while  breakfast  was  being  prepared,  and  re- 
mained until  we  were  ready  to  depart — a  tall, 
slouchy  fellow,  clothed  in  shreds  and  patches; 
he  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  a  depressed 
nose  set  in  a  battered,  though  not  unpleasant 
countenance.  None  of  our  party  had  ever 
before  seen  such  garments  on  a  human  being — 
old  bits  of  flannel,  frayed  strips  of  bagging- 


212  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

stuff,  and  other  curious  odds  and  ends  of  fab- 
rics, in  all  the  primitive  colors,  the  whole 
roughly  basted  together  with  sack-thread.  He 
was  a  philosopher,  was  this  rag-tag-and-bob- 
tail  of  a  man,  a  philosopher  with  some  mother- 
wit  about  him.  For  an  hour,  he  sat  on  his 
haunches,  crouching  over  our  little  stove,  and 
following  with  cat-like  care  W — 's  every  move- 
ment in  the  culinary  art;  she  felt  she  was  under 
the  eye  of  a  critic  who,  though  not  voicing  his 
opinions,  looked  as  if  he  knew  a  thing  or  two. 
As  a  conversationist,  our  visitor  was  fluent 
to  a  fault.  It  required  but  slight  urging  to 
draw  him  out.  His  history,  and  that  of  his 
fathers  for  three  generations  back,  he  recited 
in  much  detail.  He  himself  had,  in  his  best 
days,  been  a  sub-contractor  in  railway  con- 
struction; but  fate  had  gone  against  him,  and 
he  had  fallen  to  the  low  estate  of  a  shanty- 
boatman.  His  wife  had  "gone  back  on  him," 
and  he  was  left  with  two  little  boys,  whom  he 
proposed  to  bring  up  as  gentlemen — "  yaas, 
sir-r,  gen'lem'n,  yew  hear  me!  ef  I  is  only  a 
shanty-boat  feller!" 

"I  thote  I'd  come  to  visit  uv  ye,"  he  had 
said  by  way  of  introduction;  "ye're  frum  a 
city,  ain't  yer?  Yaas,  I  jist  thote  hit.  City 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  213 

folks  is  a  more  'com'dat'n'  'n  country  folks. 
Why?  Waal,  yew  fellers  jist  go  back  'ere  in 
th'  hills  away,  'n  them  thar  country  folks 
they'd  hardly  answer  ye,  they're  thet  selfish- 
like.  Give  me  city  folks,  I  say,  fer  get'n'  long 
with!" 

And  then,  in  a  rambling  monologue,  while 
chewing  a  straw,  he  discussed  humanity  in 
general,  and  the  professions  in  particular.  "I 
ain't  got  no  use  fer  lawyers — mighty  hard  show 
them  fellers  has,  fer  get'n'  to  heaven.  As  fer 
doctors — waal,  they'll  hev  hard  sledd'n,  too; 
but  them  fellers  has  to  do  piles  o'  dis'gree'bl' 
work,  they  do;  I'd  jist  rather  fish  fer  a  liv'n', 
then  be  a  doctor!  Still,  sir-r,  give  me  an  eddi- 
cated  man  every  time,  says  I.  Waal,  sir-r, 
'n'  ye  hear  me,  one  o'  th'  richest  fellers  right 
here  in  Madison,  wuz  born  'n'  riz  on  a  shanty- 
boat,  'n'  no  mistake.  He  jist  done  pick  up  his 
eddication  from  folks  pass'n'  by,  jes'  as  yew 
fellers  is  a  passin',  'n'  they  might  say  a  few 
wuds  o'  infermation  to  him.  He  done  git  a 
fine  eddication  jes'  thet  way,  'n'  they  ain't  no 
flies  on  him,  these  days,  when  money-gett'n' 
is  'roun'.  Jes'  noth'n'  like  it,  sir-r!  Eddica- 
tiou  does  th'  biz!" 

An  observant  man  was  this  philosopher,  and 


214  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

had  studied  human  nature  to  some  purpose. 
He  described  the  condition  of  the  poor  farmers 
along  the  river,  as  being  pitiful;  they  had  no 
money  to  hire  help,  and  were  an  odd  lot,  any- 
way— the  farther  back  in  the  hills  you  get,  the 
worse  they  are. 

He  loved  to  talk  about  himself  and  his  lowly 
condition,  in  contrast  with  his  former  glory  as 
a  sub-contractor  on  the  railway.  When  a 
man  was  down,  he  said,  he  lost  all  his  friends — 
and,  to  illustrate  this  familiar  phase  of  life, 
told  two  stories  which  he  had  often  read  in  a 
book  that  he  owned.  They  were  curious,  old- 
fashioned  tales  of  feudal  days,  evidently  writ- 
ten in  a  former  century, — he  did  not  know  the 
title  of  the  volume, — and  he  related  them  in 
what  evidently  were  the  actual  words  of  the 
author:  a  curious  recitation,  in  the  pedantic 
literary  style  of  the  ancient  story-teller,  but  in 
the  dialect  of  an  Ohio-river  "cracker."  His 
greatest  ambition,  he  told  us,  was  to  own  a 
floating  sawmill;  although  he  carefully  inquired 
about  the  laws  regulating  peddlers  in  our  State, 
and  intimated  that  sometime  he  might  look 
us  up  in  that  capacity,  in  our  Northern  home. 

As  we  approach  Louisville  to-day,  the  set- 
tlements somewhat  increase  in  number,  al- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  215 

though  none  of  the  villages  are  of  great  size; 
and,  especially  in  Kentucky,  they  are  from 
ten  to  twenty  miles  apart.  The  fine  hills  con- 
tinue close  upon  our  path  until  a  few  miles 
above  Louisville,  when  they  recede,  leaving 
on  the  Kentucky  side  a  broad,  flat  plain  sev- 
eral miles  square,  for  the  city's  growth.  For 
the  most  part,  these  stony  slopes  are  well 
wooded  with  elm,  buckeye,  maple,  ash,  oak, 
locust,  hickory,  sycamore,  cotton-wood,  a  few 
cedars,  and  here  and  there  a  catalpa  and  a 
pawpaw  giving  a  touch  of  tropical  luxuriance 
to  the  hillside  forest;  while  blackberry  bushes, 
bignonia  vines,  and  poison  ivy,  are  every- 
where abundant;  otherwise,  there  is  little  of 
interest  to  the  botanist.  Redbirds,  catbirds, 
bluebirds,  blackbirds,  and  crows  are  chatter- 
ing noisily  in  the  trees,  and  turkey-buzzards 
everywhere  swirl  and  swoop  in  mid-air. 

The  narrow  little  bottoms  are  sandy;  and 
on  lowland  as  well  as  highland  there  is  much 
poor,  rock-bewitched  soil.  The  little  white- 
washed farmsteads  look  pretty  enough  in 
the  morning  haze,  lying  half  hid  in  forest 
clumps;  but  upon  approach  they  invariably 
prove  unkempt  and  dirty,  and  swarming  with 
shiftless,  barefooted,  unhealthy  folk,  whom 


216  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

no  imagination  can  invest  with  picturesque 
qualities.  Their  ragged,  unpainted  tobacco- 
sheds  are  straggling  about,  over  the  hills;  and 
here  and  there  a  white  patch  in  the  corner  of 
a  gray  field  indicates  a  nursery  of  tobacco 
plants,  soon  to  be  transplanted  into  ampler 
soil. 

It  is  not  uncommon  to  find  upon  a  hillside 
a  freshly-built  log-cabin,  set  in  the  midst  of  a 
clearing,  with  bristling  stumps  all  around,  re- 
minding one  of  the  homes  of  new  settlers  on 
the  far-away  logging-streams  of  Northern 
Wisconsin  or  Minnesota;  the  resemblance  is 
the  closer,  for  such  notches  cut  in  the  edge  of 
the  Indiana  and  Kentucky  wilderness  are  often 
found  after  a  row  of  many  miles  through  a 
winding  forest  solitude  apparently  but  little 
changed  from  primeval  conditions.  Now  and 
then  we  come  across  quarries,  where  stone  is 
slid  down  great  chutes  to  barges  which  lie 
moored  by  the  rocky  bank;  and  frequently  is 
the  stream  lined  with  great  boulders,  which 
stand  knee-deep  in  the  flood  that  eddies  and 
gurgles  around  them. 

On  the  upper  edge  of  the  great  Louisville 
plain,  we  pitched  tent  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon;  and,  having  brought  our  bag  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  217 

land-clothes  with  us  in  the  skiff,  from  Cincin- 
nati, took  turns  under  the  canvas  in  effecting 
what  transformation  was  desirable,  prepara- 
tory to  a  visit  in  the  city.  In  the  early  twi- 
light we  were  floating  past  Towhead  Island, 
with  its  almost  solid  flank  of  houseboats, 
threading  our  way  through  a  little  fleet  of 
pleasure  yachts,  and  at  last  shooting  into  the 
snug  harbor  of  the  Boat  Club.  The  good- 
natured  captain  of  the  U.  S.  Life  Saving  Sta- 
tion took  Pilgrim  and  her  cargo  in  charge  for 
the  night,  and  by  dusk  we  were  bowling  over 
metropolitan  pavements  en  route  to  the  house 
of  our  friend — strange  contrast,  this  lap  of 
luxury,  to  the  soldier-like  simplicity  of  our 
canvas  home.  We  have  been  roughing  it  for 
so  long, — less  than  a  month,  although  it  seems 
a  year, — that  all  these  conveniences  of  civil- 
ization, these  social  conventionalities,  have  to 
us  a  sort  of  foreign  air.  Thus  easily  may  man 
descend  into  the  savage  state. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

STORIED  LOUISVILLE  —  RED  INDIANS  AND 
WHITE — A  NIGHT  ON  SAND  ISLAND — NEW 
ALBANY — RIVERSIDE  HERMITS — THE  RIVER 

FALLING — A  DESERTED    VILLAGE AN   IDEAL 

CAMP. 

SAND  ISLAND,  Tuesday,  May  29th. — Our 
Louisville  host  is  the  best  living  authority  on 
the  annals  of  .his  town.  It  was  a  delight  and 
an  inspiration  to  go  with  him,  to-day,  the 
rounds  of  the  historic  places.  Much  that  was 
to  me  heretofore  foggy  in  Louisville  story  was 
made  clear,  upon  becoming  familiar  with  the 
setting.  The  contention  is  made  that  La 
Salle  was  here  at  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio,  during 
the  closing  months  of  1669;  but  it  was  over  a 
century  later,  under  British  domination,  be- 
fore a  settlement  was  thought  of.  Dr.  John 
Connolly  entertained  a  scheme  for  founding  a 
town  at  the  Falls,  but  Lord  Dunmore's  War 
(1774),  and  the  Revolution  quickly  following, 
combined  to  put  an  end  to  it;  so  that  when 
George  Rogers  Clark  arrived  on  the  scene  with 
218 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  219 

his  little  band  of  Virginian  volunteers  (May, 
1778),  en  route  to  capture  the  Northwest  for 
the  State  of  Virginia,  he  found  naught  but  a 
savage-haunted  wilderness.  His  log  fort  on 
Corn  Island,  in  the  midst  of  the  rapids,  served 
as  a  base  of  military  operations,  and  was  the 
nucleus  of  American  settlement,  although  later 
the  inhabitants  moved  to  the  mainland,  and 
founded  Louisville. 

The  falls  at  Louisville  are  the  only  consid- 
erable obstruction  to  Ohio-River  navigation. 
At  an  average  stage,  the  descent  is  but  twenty- 
seven  feet  in  two-and-a-half  miles;  in  high 
flood,  the  rapids  degenerate  into  merely  swift 
water,  without  danger  to  descending  craft. 
At  ordinary  height,  it  was  the  custom  of  pio- 
neer boatmen,  in  descending,  to  lighten  their 
craft  of  at  least  a  third  of  the  cargo,  and  thus 
pass  them  down  to  the  foot  of  the  north-side 
portage  (Clarksville,  Ind.),  which  is  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  in  length;  going  up,  lightened 
boats  were  towed  against  the  stream.  With 
the  advent  of  larger  craft,  a  canal  with  locks 
became  necessary — the  Louisville  and  Portland 
Canal  of  to-day,  which  is  operated  by  the  gen- 
eral government. 

The  action  of  the  water,  hastened  by  the 


220  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

destruction  of  trees  whose  roots  originally 
bound  the  loose  soil,  has  greatly  worn  the 
islands  in  the  rapids.  Little  is  now  left  of 
historic  Corn  Island,  and  that  little  is,  at  low 
water,  being  blasted  and  ground  into  cement 
by  a  mill  hard  by  on  the  main  shore.  To- 
day, with  a  flood  of  nearly  twenty  feet  above 
the  normal  stage  of  the  season,  not  much  of 
the  island  is  visible, — clumps  of  willows  and 
sycamores,  swayed  by  the  rushing  current, 
giving  a  general  idea  of  the  contour.  Goose 
Island,  although  much  smaller  than  in  Clark's 
day,  is  a  considerable  tract  of  wooded  land, 
with  a  rock  foundation.  Clark  was  once  its 
owner,  his  home  being  opposite  on  the  Indiana 
shore,  where  he  had  a  fine  view  of  the  river, 
the  rapids,  and  the  several  islands.  As  for 
Clarksville,  somewhat  lower  down,  and  back 
from  the  river  a  half  mile,  it  is  now  but  a 
cluster  of  dwellings  on  the  outskirts  of  New 
Albany,  a  manufacturing  town  which  is  rap- 
idly absorbing  all  the  neighboring  territory. 

Feeling  obliged  to  make  an  early  start,  we 
concluded  to  pass  the  night  just  below  the 
canal  on  Sand  Island,  lying  between  New 
Albany  and  Louisville's  noisy  manufacturing 
suburb,  Portland.  An  historic  spot  is  this 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  221 

insular  home  of  ours.  At  the  treaty  of  Fort 
Charlotte,  Cornstalk  told  Lord  Dunmore  the 
legend  familiar  among  Ohio  River  savages — 
that  here,  in  ages  past,  occurred  the  last  great 
battle  between  the  white  and  the  red  Indians. 
It  is  one  of  the  puzzles  of  the  antiquarians, 
this  tradition  that  white  Indians  once  lived  in 
the  land,  but  were  swept  away  by  the  reds; 
Cornstalk  had  used  it  to  spur  his  followers  to 
mighty  deeds,  it  was  a  precedent  which  Pon- 
tiac  dwelt  upon  when  organizing  his  conspir- 
acy, and  King  Philip  is  said  to  have  been 
inspired  by  it.  But  this  is  no  place  to  discuss 
the  genesis  of  the  tale.  Suffice  it,  that  on 
Sand  Island  have  been  discovered  great  quan- 
tities of  ancient  remains.  No  doubt,  in  its 
day,  it  was  an  over-filled  burying-ground. 

Noises,  far  different  from  the  clash  of  sav- 
age arms,  are  in  the  air  to-night.  Far  above 
our  heads  a  great  iron  bridge  crosses  the  Ohio, 
some  of  its  piers  resting  on  the  island, — a  busy 
combination  thoroughfare  for  steam  and  elec- 
tric railways,  for  pedestrians  and  for  vehicles, 
plying  between  New  Albany  and  Portland. 
The  whirr  of  the  trolley,  the  scream  and  rum- 
ble of  locomotives,  the  rattle  of  wagons;  and 
just  above  the  island  head,  the  burly  roar  of 


222  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

steamboats  signaling  the  locks, — these  are  the 
sounds  which  are  prevalent.  Through  all  this 
hubbub,  electric  lamps  are  flashing,  and  just 
now  a  steamer's  search-light  swept  our  island 
shore,  lingering  for  a  moment  upon  the  little 
camp,  doubtless  while  the  pilot  satisfied  his 
curiosity.  Let  us  hope  that  savage  warriors 
never  o'  nights  walk  the  earth  above  their 
graves;  for  such  scenes  as  this  might  well 
cause  those  whose  bones  lie  here  to  doubt 
their  senses. 

NEAR  BRANDENBURG,  KY.  ,  Wednesday, 
3Oth. — We  stopped  at  New  Albany,  Ind.  (603 
miles),  this  morning,  to  stock  the  larder  and 
to  forward  our  shore-clothes  by  express  to 
Cairo.  It  is  a  neat  and  busy  manufacturing 
town,  with  an  excellent  public  market.  A  gala 
aspect  was  prevalent,  for  it  is  Memorial  Day; 
the  shops  and  principal  buildings  were  gay 
with  bunting,  and  men  in  Grand  Army  uni- 
forms stood  in  knots  at  the  street  corners. 

The  broad,  fertile  plain  on  both  sides  of  the 
river,  upon  which  Louisville  and  New  Albany 
are  the  principal  towns,  extends  for  eight  or 
nine  miles  below  the  rapids.  The  first  hills 
to  approach  the  stream  are  those  in  Indiana. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  223 

Salt  River,  some  ten  or  twelve  rods  wide,  en- 
ters from  the  south  twenty-one  miles  below 
New  Albany,  between  uninteresting  high  clay 
banks,  with  the  lazy-looking  little  village  of 
West  Point,  Ky.,  occupying  a  small  rise  of 
ground  just  below  the  mouth.  The  Kentucky 
hills  come  close  to  the  bank,  a  mile  or  two 
farther  down,  and  then  the  familiar  character- 
istics of  the  reaches  above  Louisville  are  re- 
sumed— hills  and  bottoms,  sparsely  settled 
with  ragged  farmsteads,  regularly  alternating. 

At  five  o'clock  we  put  in  at  a  rocky  ledge 
on  the  Indiana  side,  a  mile-and-a-half  above 
Brandenburg.  Behind  us  rises  a  precipitous 
hill,  tree-clad  to  the  summit.  The  Doctor 
found  up  there  a  new  phlox  and  a  pretty  pink 
stone-crop,  to  add  to  our  herbarium,  while  here 
as  elsewhere  the  bignonia  grows  profusely  in 
every  crevice  of  the  rock.  At  dark,  two  rag- 
ged and  ill-smelling  young  shanty-boat  men, 
who  are  moored  hard  by,  came  up  to  see  us, 
and  by  our  camp-fire  to  whittle  chips  and 
drone  about  hard  times.  But  at  last  we  tired 
of  their  idle  gossip,  which  had  in  it  no  ele- 
ment of  the  picturesque,  and  got  rid  of  them 
by  hinting  our  desire  to  turn  in. 

The    towns   were    few   to-day,  and    small. 


224  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

Brandenburg,  with  eight  hundred  souls,  was 
the  largest — a  sleepy,  ill-paved,  shambling 
place,  with  apparently  nobody  engaged  in  any 
serious  calling;  its  chief  distinction  is  an  archi- 
tectural monstrosity,  which  we  were  told  is 
the  court-house.  The  little  white  hamlet  of 
New  Amsterdam,  Ind.  (650  miles),  looked 
trim  and  bright  in  the  midst  of  a  green  thicket. 
Richardson's  Landing,  Ky. ,  is  a  disheveled 
row  of  old  deserted  houses,  once  used  by  lime- 
burners,  with  a  great  barge  wrecked  upon  the 
beach.  At  the  small,  characterless  Indiana 
village  of  Leavenworth  (658  miles),  I  sought 
a  traveling  photographer,  of  whom  I  had  been 
told  at  Brandenburg.  My  quest  was  for  a 
dark-room  where  I  might  recharge  my  ex- 
hausted kodak;  but  the  man  of  plates  had 
packed  up  his  tent  and  moved  on — I  would 
no  doubt  find  him  in  Alton,  Ind.,  fifteen  miles 
lower  down. 

We  have  had  stately,  eroded  hills,  and 
broad,  fertile  bottoms,  hemming  us  in  all  day, 
and  marvelous  ox-bows  in  the  erratic  stream. 
The  hillsides  are  heavily  wooded,  sometimes 
the  slopes  coming  straight  down  to  the  stony 
beach,  without  intervening  terrace;  where 
there  are  such  terraces,  they  are  narrow  and 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  225 

rocky,  and  the  homes  of  shanty-men;  but 
upon  the  bottoms  are  whitewashed  dwell- 
ings of  frame  or  log,  tenanted  by  a  better  class, 
who  sometimes  have  goodly  orchards  and  ex- 
tensive corn-cribs.  The  villages  are  generally 
in  the  deep-cut  notches  of  the  hills,  where  the 
interior  can  be  conveniently  reached  by  a 
wagon-road — a  country  "rumpled  like  this," 
they  say,  for  ten  or  twelve  miles  back,  and 
then  stretching  off  into  level  plains  of  fertility. 
Now  and  then,  a  deserted  cabin  on  the  ter- 
races,— windowless  and  gaunt, — tells  the  story 
of  some  "cracker"  family  that  malaria  had 
killed  off,  or  that  has  "pulled  up  stakes" 
and  gone  to  seek  a  better  land. 

At  Leavenworth,  the  river,  which  has  been 
flowing  northwest  for  thirty  miles,  takes  a 
sudden  sweep  to  the  southwest,  and  thencefor- 
ward we  have  a  rapid  current.  However,  we 
need  still  to  ply  our  blades,  for  there  is  a  stiff 
head-wind,  with  an  eager  nip  in  it,  to  escape 
which  we  seek  the  lee  as  often  as  may  be, 
and  bask  in  the  undisturbed  sunlight.  Right 
glad  we  were,  at  luncheon-time,  to  find  a 
sheltered  nook  amidst  a  heap  of  boulders  on 
the  Kentucky  shore,  and  to  sit  on  the  sun- 
warmed  sand  and  drink  hot  tea  by  the  side  of 
15 


226  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

a  camp-fire,  rejoicing  in  the  kindness  of  Prov- 
idence. 

There  are  few  houseboats,  since  leaving 
Louisville;  to-day  we  have  seen  but  three  or 
four — one  of  them  merrily  going  up  stream, 
under  full  sail.  Islands,  too,  are  few — the 
Upper  and  Lower  Blue  River,  a  pretty  pair, 
being  the  first  we  have  met  since  Sunday. 
The  water  is  falling,  it  now  being  three  or 
four  feet  below  the  stage  of  a  few  days  since, 
as  can  readily  be  seen  from  the  broad  dado  of 
mud  left  on  the  leaves  of  willows  and  syca- 
mores; while  the  drift,  recently  an  ever-pres- 
ent feature  of  the  current,  is  rapidly  lodging 
in  the  branches  of  the  willows  and  piling  up 
against  the  sand-spits;  and  scrawling  snags 
and  bobbing  sawyers  are  catching  on  the  bars, 
and  being  held  for  the  next  "fresh." 

There  is  little  life  along  shore,  in  these  lower 
waters.  There  are  two  lines  of  ever-widen- 
ing, willowed  beach  of  rock  and  sand  or  mud; 
above  them,  perpendicular  walls  of  clay,  which 
edge  either  rocky  terraces  backed  by  grand 
sweeps  of  convoluted  hills,  — sometimes  wooded 
to  the  top,  and  sometimes  eroded  into  pal- 
isades,— or  wide-stretching  bottoms  given  over 
to  small  farms  or  maybe  dense  tangles  of  forest. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  227 

In  the  midst  of  this  world  of  shade,  nestle 
the  whitewashed  cabins  of  the  small  tillers; 
but  though  they  swarm  with  children,  it  is  not 
often  that  the  inhabitants  appear  by  the  river- 
side. We  catch  a  glimpse  of  them  when 
landing  on  our  petty  errands,  we  now  and 
then  see  a  houseboater  at  his  nets,  and  in  the 
villages  a  few  lackadaisical  folk  are  lounging 
by  the  wharf;  but  as  a  rule,  in  these  closing 
days  of  our  pilgrimage,  we  glide  through  what 
is  almost  a  solitude.  The  imagination  has 
not  to  go  far  afield,  to  rehabilitate  the  river 
as  it  appeared  to  the  earliest  voyagers. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  usual  wishing 
water  and  milk,  we  put  ashore  in  Indiana, 
where  a  rustic  landing  indicated  a  settlement 
of  some  sort,  although  our  view  was  confined 
to  a  pretty,  wooded  bank,  and  an  unpainted 
warehouse  at  the  top  of  the  path.  It  was  a 
fertile  bottom,  a  half-mile  wide,  and  stretch- 
ing a  mile  or  two  along  the  river.  Three 
neat  houses,  one  of  them  of  logs,  constituted 
the  village,  and  all  about  were  grain-fields 
rippled  into  waves  by  the  northwest  breeze. 

The  first  house,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  inland, 
I  reached  by  a  country  roadway;  it  proved  to 
be  the  postoffice  of  Point  Sandy.  Chickens 


228  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

clucked  around  me,  a  spaniel  came  fawning 
for  attention,  a  tethered  cow  mooed  plain- 
tively, but  no  human  being  was  visible.  At 
last  I  discovered  a  penciled  notice  pinned  to 
the  horse-block,  to  the  effect  that  the  post- 
master had  gone  into  Alton  (five  miles  distant) 
for  the  day;  and  should  William  Askins  call 
in  his  absence,  the  said  Askins  was  to  remem- 
ber that  he  promised  to  call  yesterday,  but 
never  came;  and  now  would  he  be  kind  enough 
to  come  without  fail  to-morrow  before  sun- 
down, or  the  postmaster  would  be  obliged  to 
write  that  letter  they  had  spoken  about.  It 
was  quite  evident  that  Askins  had  not  called; 
for  he  surely  would  not  have  left  that  myste- 
rious notice  sticking  there,  for  all  Point  Sandy 
to  read  and  gossip  over.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
that  there  will  be  no  bloodshed  over  this 
affair;  across  the  way,  in  Kentucky,  there 
would  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  outcome. 

I  looked  at  Boss,  and  wondered  whether  in 
Indiana  it  were  felony  to  milk  another  man's 
cow  in  his  absence,  with  no  ginger  jar  at 
hand,  into  which  to  drop  a  compensatory 
dime.  Then  I  saw  that  she  was  dry,  and  con- 
cluded that  to  attempt  it  might  be  thought  a 
violation  of  ethics.  The  postmaster's  well, 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  229 

too,  proved  to  be  a  cistern, — pardon  the  Hi- 
bernicism, — and  so  I  went  farther. 

The  other  frame  house  also  turned  out  to 
be  deserted,  but  evidently  only  for  the  day, 
for  the  lilac  bushes  in  the  front  yard  were 
hung  with  men's  flannel  shirts  drying  in  the 
sun.  A  buck  goat  came  bleating  toward  me, 
with  many  a  flourish  of  his  horns,  from  which 
it  was  plain  to  be  seen  why  the  family  wash 
was  not  spread  upon  the  grass.  From  here  I 
followed  a  narrow  path  through  a  wheat-field, 
the  grain  up  to  my  shoulders,  toward  the  log 
dwelling.  A  mangy  little  cur  disputed  my 
right  to  knock  at  the  door;  but,  flourishing 
my  two  tin  pails  at  him,  he  flew  yelping  to 
take  refuge  in  the  hen-coop.  To  my  sum- 
mons at  the  portal,  there  came  no  response, 
save  the  mewing  of  the  cat  within.  It  was 
clear  that  the  people  of  Point  Sandy  were  not 
at  home,  to-day. 

I  would  have  retreated  to  the  boat,  but, 
chancing  to  glance  up  at  the  overhanging  hills 
which  edge  in  the  bottom,  saw  two  men  sit- 
ting on  a  boulder  in  front  of  a  rude  log  hut  on 
the  brink  of  a  cliff,  curiously  watching  my 
movements  on  the  plain.  Thankful,  now, 
that  the  postmaster's  cow  had  gone  dry,  and 


230  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

that  these  observant  mountaineers  had  not 
had  an  opportunity  to  misinterpret  my  con- 
duct, I  at  once  hurried  toward  the  hill,  hope- 
ful that  at  the  top  some  bovine  might  be 
housed,  whose  product  could  lawfully  be  ac- 
quired. But  after  a  long  and  laborious  climb, 
over  shifting  stones  and  ragged  ledges,  I  was 
met  with  the  discouraging  information  that 
the  only  cow  in  these  parts  was  Hawkins' 
cow,  and  Hawkins  was  the  postmaster, — 
"down  yon,  whar  yew  were  a-read'n'  th'  no- 
tices on  th'  hoss-block."  Neither  had  they 
any  water,  up  there  on  the  cliff-top — "  don'  use 
very  much,  stranger;  'n'  what  we  do,  we  done 
git  at  Smithfield's,  in  th'  log-house  down  yon, 
'n'  I  reck'n  their  cistern's  done  gone  dry,  any- 
how!" 

"But  what  is  the  matter  down  there?"  I 
asked  of  the  old  man, — they  were  father  and 
son,  this  lounging  pair  who  thus  loftily  sat  in 
judgment  on  the  little  world  at  their  feet; 
"why  are  all  the  folks  away  from  home?" 

He  looked  surprised,  and  took  a  fresh  chew 
while  cogitating  on  my  alarming  ignorance  of 
Point  Sandy  affairs:  "Why,  ain'  ye  heared? 
I  thote  ev'ry  feller  on  th'  river  knew  thet 
yere — why,  ol'  Hawkins,  his  wife's  brother's 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  231 

buried  in  Alton  to-day,  'n'  th*  neighbors  done 
gwine  t'  th'  fun'ral.  Whar  your  shanty-boat 
been  beached,  thet  ye  ain'  heared  thet  yere?" 

As  the  sun  neared  the  horizon,  we  tried 
other  places  below,  with  no  better  success; 
and  two  miles  above  Alton,  Ind.  (673  miles), 
struck  camp  at  sundown,  without  milk  for  our 
coffee — for  water,  being  obliged  to  settle  and 
boil  the  roily  element  which  bears  us  onward 
through  the  lengthening  days.  Were  there 
no  hardships,  this  would  be  no  pilgrimage 
worthy  of  the  name.  We  are  out,  philosoph- 
ically to  take  the  world  as  it  is;  he  who  is  not 
content  to  do  so,  had  best  not  stir  from  home. 

But  our  camping-place,  to-night,  is  ideal. 
We  are  upon  a  narrow,  grassy  ledge;  below 
us,  the  sloping  beach  astrewn  with  jagged 
rocks;  behind  us  rises  steeply  a  grand  hillside 
forest,  in  which  lie,  mantled  with  moss  and 
lichens,  and  deep  buried  in  undergrowth,  boul- 
ders as  large  as  a  "cracker's"  hut;  romantic 
glens  abound,  and  a  little  run  comes  noisily 
down  a  ravine  hard  by, — it  is  a  witching  back- 
door, filled  with  surprises  at  every  turn. 
Beeches,  elms,  maples,  lindens,  pawpaws, 
tulip  trees,  here  attain  a  monster  growth, — 
with  grape-vines,  their  fruit  now  set,  hanging 


232  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

in  great  festoons  from  the  branches;  and  all 
about,  are  the  flowers  which  thrive  best  in 
shady  solitudes — wild  licorice,  a  small  green- 
brier,  and,  although  not  yet  in  bloom,  the 
sessile  trillium.  We  are  thoroughly  isolated; 
a  half-mile  above  us,  faintly  gleams  a  govern- 
ment beacon,  and  we  noticed  on  landing  that 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  below  is  a  small  cabin 
flanking  the  hill.  Naught  disturbs  our  quiet, 
save  the  calls  of  the  birds  at  roosting-time,  and 
now  and  then  the  hoarse  bellow  of  a  passing 
packet,  with  its  legacy  of  boisterous  wake. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

VILLAGE  LIFE — A  TRAVELING  PHOTOGRAPHER 
— ON  A  COUNTRY  ROAD — STUDIES  IN  COLOR — 
AGAIN  AMONG  COLLIERS — IN  SWEET  CON- 
TENT— A  FERRY  ROMANCE. 

NEAR  TROY,  IND.,  Friday,  June  ist. — Be- 
low Alton,  the  hills  are  not  so  high  as  above. 
We  have,  however,  the  same  thoroughly  rustic 
landscape,  the  same  small  farms  on  the  bot- 
toms and  wretched  cabins  on  the  slopes,  the 
same  frontier-like  clearings  thick  with  stumps, 
the  same  shabby  little  villages,  and  frequent 
ox-bow  windings  of  the  generous  stream,  with 
lovely  vistas  unfolding  and  dissolving  with  pano- 
ramic regularity.  It  is  not  a  region  where  house- 
boaters  flourish — there  is  but  one  every  ten 
miles  or  so;  as  for  steamboats,  we  see  on  an 
average  one  a  day,  while  two  or  three  usually 
pass  us  in  the  night. 

A  dry,  unpainted  little  place  is  Alton,  Ind., 
with  three  down-at-the-heel  shops,  a  tavern,  a 
saloon,  and  a  few  dwellings;  there  was  no 
233 


234  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

bread  obtainable  here,  for  love  or  money,  and 
we  were  fain  to  be  content  with  a  bag  of 
crackers  from  the  postoffice  grocery.  The 
promised  photographer,  who  appears  to  be  a 
rapid  traveler,  was  said  to  have  gone  on  to 
Concordia,  eight  miles  below. 

Deep  Water  Landing,  Ind.  (676  miles),  is  a 
short  row  of  new,  whitewashed  houses,  with  a 
great  board  sign  displaying  the  name  of  the 
hamjet,  doubtless  to  attract  the  attention  of 
pilots.  A  rude  little  show-case,  nailed  up 
beside  the  door  of  the  house  at  the  head  of  the 
landing-path,  contains  tempting  samples  of 
crocjcery  and  tinware.  Apparently  some  en- 
terprising soul  is  trying  to  grow  a  town  here, 
on  this  narrow  ledge  of  clay,  with  his  landing 
and  his  shop  as  a  nucleus.  But  it  is  an  unlikely 
spot,  and  I  doubt  if  his  "boom"  will  develop 
to  the  corner-lot  stage. 

Rono,  Ind.,  a  mile  below,  with  its  limewashed 
buildings  set  in  a  bower  of  trees,  at  the  base 
of  a  bald  bluff,  is  a  rather  pretty  study  in  gray 
and  green  and  white.  The  most  notable  fea- 
ture is  a  little  school-house-like  Masonic  hall 
set  high  on  a  stone  foundation,  with  a  steep 
outer  stairway — which  gives  one  an  impression 
that  Rono  is  a  victim  of  floods,  and  that  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  235 

brethren  occasionally  come  in  boats  to  lodge- 
meetings. 

Concordia,  Ky.  (68 1  miles),  rests  on  the 
summit  of  a  steep  clay  bank,  from  which  men 
were  loading  a  barge  with  bark.  Great  piles 
of  blocks,  for  staves,  ornamented  the  crest  of 
the  rise — a  considerable  industry  for  these 
parts,  we  were  told.  But  the  photographer, 
whom  we  were  chasing,  had  "taken"  every 
Concordian  who  wished  his  services,  and  moved 
on  to  Derby,  another  Kentucky  village,  which 
at  last  we  found,  six  miles  father  down  the 
river. 

The  principal  occupation  of  the  people  of 
Derby  is  getting  out  timber  from  the  hillside 
forests,  six  to  ten  miles  in  the  interior.  Oak, 
elm,  and  sycamore  railway-ties  are  the  spe- 
cialty, these  being  worth  twenty  cents  each 
when  landed  upon  the  wharf.  A  few  months 
ago,  Derby  was  completely  destroyed  by  fire, 
but,  although  the  timber  business  is  on  the 
wane  here,  much  of  the  place  was  rebuilt  on 
the  old  foundations;  hence  the  fresh,  unpainted 
buildings,  with  battlement  fronts,  which,  with 
the  prevalence  of  open-door  saloons  and  a 
woodsy  swagger  on  the  part  of  the  inhabitants, 


236  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

give  the  place  a  breezy,  frontier  aspect  now 
seldom  to  be  met  with  this  side  of  the  Rockies. 

Here  at  last  was  the  traveling  photographer. 
His  tent,  flapping  loudly  in  the  wind,  occupied 
an  empty  lot  in  the  heart  of  the  village — a 
saloon  on  either  side,  and  a  lumberman's 
boarding  house  across  the  way,  where  the 
' '  artist "  was  at  dinner,  pending  which  I  waited 
for  him  at  the  door  of  his  canvas  gallery.  He 
evidently  seeks  to  magnify  his  calling,  does 
this  raw  youth  of  the  camera,  by  affecting 
what  he  conceives  to  be  the  traditional  garb 
of  the  artistic  Bohemian,  but  which  resembles 
more  closely  the  costume  of  the  minstrel 
stage — a  battered  silk  hat,  surmounting  flow- 
ing locks  glistening  with  hair-oil;  a  loose  vel- 
veteen jacket,  over  a  gay  figured  vest;  and  a 
great  brass  watch-chain,  from  which  dangle 
silver  coins.  As  this  grotesque  dandy,  evi- 
dently not  long  from  his  native  village,  came 
mincing  across  the  road  in  patent-leather  slip- 
pers, smoking  a  cigarette,  with  one  thumb  in 
an  arm-hole  of  his  vest,  and  the  other  hand 
twirling  an  incipient  mustache,  he  was  plainly 
conscious  of  creating  something  of  a  swell  in 
Derby. 

It  was  a  crazy  little  dark-room  to  which  I 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  237 

was  shown — a  portable  affair,  much  like  a 
coffin-case,  which  I  expected  momentarily  to 
upset  as  I  stood  within,  and  be  smothered  in  a 
cloud  of  ill-smelling  chemicals.  However, 
with  care  I  finally  emerged  without  accident, 
and  sufficiently  compensated  the  artist,  who 
seemed  not  over-favorable  to  amateur  compe- 
tition, although  he  chatted  freely  enough  about 
his  business.  It  generally  took  him  ten  days, 
he  said,  to  "finish"  a  town  of  five  or  six  hun- 
dred inhabitants,  like  Derby.  He  traveled  on 
steamers  with  his  tenting  outfit,  but  next  sea- 
son hoped  to  have  money  enough  to  "do  the 
thing  in  style,"  in  a  houseboat  of  his  own,  an 
establishment  which  would  cost  say  four  hun- 
dred dollars;  then,  in  the  winter,  he  could 
beach  himself  at  some  fair-sized  town,  and 
perhaps  make  his  board  by  running  a  local 
gallery,  taking  to  the  water  again  on  the  ear- 
liest spring  "fresh."  "I  could  live  like  a 
fight'n'  cock  then,  cap'n,  yew  jist  bet  yer  bot- 
tom dollar!" 

The  temperature  mounted  with  the  prog- 
ress of  the  day;  and,  the  wind  dying  down, 
the  atmosphere  was  oppressive.  By  the  time 
Stephensport,  Ky.  (695  miles),  was  reached, 
in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  the  sun  was 


238  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

beating  fiercely  upon  the  glassy  flood,  and  our 
awning  came  again  into  play,  although  it 
could  not  save  us  from  the  annoyance  of  the 
reflection.  The  barren  clay  bank  at  the  mouth 
of  Sinking  Creek,  upon  which  lies  Stephens- 
port,  seemed  fairly  ablaze  with  heat,  as  I  went 
up  into  the  straggling  hamlet  to  seek  for  sup- 
plies. There  were  no  eggs  to  be  had  here; 
but,  at  last,  milk  was  found  in  the  farther  end 
of  the  village,  at  a  modest  little  cottage  quite 
embowered  in  roses,  with  two  century  plants 
in  tubs  in  the  back-yard,  and  a  trim  fruit  and 
vegetable  garden  to  the  rear  of  that,  enclosed 
in  palings.  I  remained  a  few  minutes  to  chat 
with  the  little  housewife,  who  knows  her  roses 
well,  and  is  versed  in  the  gentle  art  of  horti- 
culture. But  her  horizon  is  painfully  nar- 
row— first  and  dearest,  the  plants  about  her, 
which  is  not  so  bad;  in  a  larger  way,  Stephens- 
port  and  its  petty  affairs;  but  beyond  that 
very  little,  and  that  little  vague. 

It  is  ever  thus,  in  such  far-away,  side-tracked 
villages  as  this — the  world  lies  in  the  basin  of 
the  hills  which  these  people  see  from  their 
doors;  if  they  have  something  to  love  and  do  for, 
as  this  good  woman  has  in  her  bushes,  seeds, 
and  bulbs,  then  may  they  dwell  happily  in 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  239 

rustic  obscurity;  but  where,  as  is  more  com- 
mon, the  small-beer  of  neighborhood  gossip  is 
their  meat  and  drink,  there  are  no  folk  on  the 
footstool  more  wretched  than  the  denizens  of 
a  dead  little  hamlet  like  Stephensport. 

We  are  housed  this  night  on  the  Kentucky 
side,  a  mile-and-a-half  above  Cloverport, 
whose  half-dozen  lights  are  glimmering  in  the 
stream.  In  the  gloaming,  while  dinner  was 
being  prepared,  a  ragged  but  sturdy  wanderer 
came  into  camp.  He  was,  he  said,  a  moun- 
taineer looking  for  work  on  the  bottom  farms; 
heretofore  he  had,  when  he  wanted  it,  always 
found  it;  but  this  season  no  one  appeared  to 
have  any  money  to  expend  for  labor,  and  it 
seemed  likely  he  would  be  obliged  to  return 
home  without  receiving  an  offer.  We  made 
the  stranger  no  offer  of  a  seat  at  our  humble 
board,  having  no  desire  that  he  pass  the  night 
in  our  neighborhood;  for  darkness  was  com- 
ing on  apace,  and,  if  he  long  tarried,  the 
woodland  road  would  be  as  black  as  a  pocket 
before  he  could  reach  Cloverport,  his  alleged 
destination.  So  starting  him  off  with  a  bis- 
cuit or  two,  he  was  soon  on  his  way  toward 
the  village,  whistling  a  lively  tune. 


240  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

CROOKED  CREEK,  IND.,  Saturday,  2d. — We 
had  but  fairly  got  to  bed  last  night,  after  our 
late  dinner,  when  the  heavens  suddenly  dark- 
ened, fierce  gusts  of  wind  shook  the  tent  vio- 
lently, and  then  rain  fell  in  blinding  sheets. 
For  a  time  it  was  lively  work  for  the  Doctor 
and  me,  tightening  guy-ropes  and  ditching  in 
the  soft  sand,  for  we  were  in  an  exposed 
position,  catching  the  full  force  of  the  storm. 
At  last,  everything  secured,  we  in  serenity 
slept  it  out,  awakening  to  find  a  beautiful 
morning,  the  grape-perfumed  air  as  clear  as 
crystal,  the  outlines  of  woods  and  hills  and 
streams  standing  out  with  sharp  definition, 
and  over  all  a  hushed  charm  most  soothing  to 
the  spirit. 

Cloverport  (705  miles)  is  a  typical  Kentucky 
town,  of  somewhat  less  than  four  thousand 
inhabitants.  The  wharf-boat,  which  runs  up 
and  down  an  iron  tramway,  according  to  the 
height  of  the  flood,  was  swarming  with  negroes, 
watching  with  keen  delight  the  departure  of 
the  "E.  D.  Rogan,"  as  she  noisily  backed  out 
into  the  river  and  scattered  the  crowd  with 
great  showers  of  spray  from  her  gigantic  stern- 
wheel.  It  was  a  busy  scene  on  board — negro 
roustabouts  shipping  the  gang-plank,  and  sing- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  241 

ing  in  a  low  pitch  an  old-time  plantation  mel- 
ody; stokers,  stripped  to  the  waist,  shoveling 
coal  into  the  gaping  furnaces;  chambermaids 
hanging  the  ship's  linen  out  to  dry;  passengers 
crowded  by  the  shore  rail,  on  the  main  deck; 
the  bustling  mate  shouting  orders,  apparently 
for  the  benefit  of  landsmen,  for  no  one  on 
board  appeared  to  heed  him;  and  high  up,  in 
front  of  the  pilot-house,  the  spruce  captain, 
in  gold-laced  cap,  and  glass  in  hand,  as  im- 
movable as  the  Sphinx. 

At  the  head  of  the  slope  were  a  picturesque 
medley  of  colored  folk,  of  true  Southern  plan- 
tation types,  so  seldom  seen  north  of  Dixie. 
Two  wee  picaninnies,  drawn  in  an  express 
cart  by  a  half-dozen  other  sable  elfs,  attracted 
our  attention,  as  W —  and  I  went  up-town 
for  our  day's  marketing.  We  stopped  to  take 
a  snap-shot  at  them,  to  the  intense  satisfac- 
tion of  the  little  kink-haired  mother  of  the 
twins,  who,  barring  her  blue  calico  gown, 
looked  as  if  she  might  have  just  stepped  out 
of  a  Zulu  group. 

Cloverport  has  brick-works,  gas  wells,  a 
flouring-mill,  and  other  industries.  The  streets 
are  unkempt,  as  in  most  Kentucky  towns,  and 
mules  attached  to  crazy  little  carts  are  the 

16 


242  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

chief  beasts  of  burden;  but  the  shops  are  well- 
stocked;  there  were  many  farmers  in  town, 
on  horse  and  mule  back,  doing  their  Saturday 
shopping;  and  an  air  of  business  confidence 
prevails. 

In  this  district,  coal-mines  again  appear, 
with  their  riverside  tipples,  and  their  offal  de- 
filing the  banks.  In  general,  these  reaches 
have  many  of  the  aspects  of  the  Monongahela, 
although  the  hills  are  lower,  and  mining  is  on 
a  smaller  scale.  Cannelton,  Ind.  (717  miles), 
is  the  headquarters  of  the  American  Cannel 
Coal  Co. ;  there  are,  also,  woolen  and  cotton 
mills,  sewer-pipe  factories,  and  potteries. 
W —  and  I  went  up  into  the  town,  on  an  er- 
rand for  supplies, — we  distribute  our  small 
patronage,  for  the  sake  of  frequently  going 
ashore, — and  were  interested  in  noting  the 
cheery  tone  of  the  business  men,  who  reported 
that  the  financial  depression,  noticeable  else- 
where in  the  Ohio  Valley,  has  practically  been 
unfelt  here.  Hawesville,  Ky. ,  just  across  the 
river,  has  a  similarly  prosperous  look,  but  we 
did  not  row  across  to  inspect  it  at  close  range. 
Tell  City,  Ind. ,  three  miles  below,  is  another 
flourishing  factory  town,  whose  wharf-boat 
was  the  scene  of  much  bustle.  Four  miles 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  243 

still  lower  down  lies  the  sleepy  little  Indiana 
village  of  Troy,  which  appears  to  have  profited 
nothing  from  having  lively  neighbors. 

From  the  neighborhood  of  Derby,  the  en- 
vironing hills  had,  as  we  proceeded,  been  less- 
ening in  height,  although  still  ruggedly  beauti- 
ful. A  mile  or  two  below  Troy,  both  ranges  sud- 
denly roll  back  into  the  interior,  leaving  broad 
bottoms  on  either  hand,  occasionally  edged  with 
high  clay  banks,  through  which  the  river  has 
cut  its  devious  way.  At  other  times,  these 
bottoms  slope  gently  to  the  beach  and  every- 
where are  cultivated  with  such  care  that  often 
no  room  is  left  for  the  willow  fringe,  which 
heretofore  has  been  an  ever-present  feature  of 
the  landscape.  Hereafter,  to  the  mouth,  we 
shall  for  the  most  part  row  between  parallel 
walls  of  clay,  with  here  and  there  a  bankside 
ledge  of  rock  and  shale,  and  now  and  then  a 
cragged  spur  running  out  to  meet  the  river. 
We  have  now  entered  the  great  corn  and 
tobacco  belt  of  the  Lower  Ohio,  the  region  of 
annual  overflow,  where  the  towns  seek  the 
highlands,  and  the  bottom  farmers  erect  their 
few  crude  buildings  on  posts,  prepared  in  case 
of  exceptional  flood  to  take  to  boats. 

The    prevalent    eagerness    on    the    part    of 


244  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

farmers  to  obtain  the  utmost  from  their  land 
made  it  difficult,  this  evening,  to  find  a  proper 
camping-place.  We  finally  found  a  narrow 
triangle  of  clay  terrace,  in  Indiana,  at  the 
mouth  of  Crooked  Creek  (727  miles),  where 
not  long  since  had  tarried  a  houseboater  en- 
gaged in  making  rustic  furniture.  It  is  a  pretty 
little  bit,  in  a  group  of  big  willows  and  syca- 
mores, and  would  be  comfortable  but  for  the 
sand-flies,  which  for  the  first  time  give  us  an- 
noyance. The  creek  itself,  some  four  rods 
wide,  and  overhung  with  stately  trees,  winds 
gracefully  through  the  rich  bottom;  we  have 
found  it  a  charming  water  to  explore,  being 
able  to  proceed  for  nearly  a  mile  through 
lovely  little  wide-spreads  abounding  in  lilies 
and  sweet  with  the  odor  of  grape-blossoms. 

Across  the  river,  at  Einmerick's  Landing, — 
a  little  cluster  of  unpainted  cabins, — lies  the 
white  barge  of  a  photographer,  just  such  a 
home  as  the  Derby  artist  covets.  The  Ohio 
is  here  about  half-a-mile  wide,  but  high-pitched 
voices  of  people  on  the  opposite  bank  are  plainly 
heard  across  the  smooth  sounding-board;  and 
in  the  quiet  evening  air  comes  to  us  the  ' '  chuck- 
chuck  "  of  oars  nearly  a  mile  away.  Following 
a  torrid  afternoon,  with  exasperating  head- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  245 

winds,  this  cool,  fresh  atmosphere,  in  the  long 
twilight,  is  inspiring.  Overhead  is  the  slender 
streak  of  the  moon's  first  quarter,  its  reflection 
shimmering  in  the  broad  and  placid  stream 
rushing  noiselessly  by  us  to  the  sea.  In  bliss- 
ful content  we  sit  upon  the  bank,  and  drink 
in  the  glories  of  the  night.  The  days  of  our 
pilgrimage  are  nearing  their  end,  but  our  en- 
thusiasm for  this  al  fresco  life  is  in  no  measure 
abating.  That  we  might  ever  thus  dream  and 
drift  upon  the  river  of  life,  far  from  the  labored 
strivings  of  the  world,  is  our  secret  wish,  to- 
night. 

We  had  long  been  sitting  thus,  having 
silent  communion  with  our  thoughts,  when 
the  Boy,  his  little  head  resting  on  W — 's 
shoulder,  broke  the  spell  by  murmuring  from 
the  fullness  of  his  heart,  '  •  Mother,  why  can- 
not we  keep  on  doing  this,  always?" 

YELLOWBANK  ISLAND,  Sunday,  June  3d. — 
Pilgrim  still  attracts  more  attention  than  her 
passengers.  When  we  stop  at  the  village 
wharfs,  or  grate  our  keel  upon  some  rustic 
landing,  it  is  not  long  before  the  Doctor,  who 
now  always  remains  with  the  boat,  no  matter 
who  goes  ashore,  is  surrounded  by  an  admir- 


246  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ing  group,  who  rap  Pilgrim  on  the  ribs,  try  to 
lift  her  by  the  bow,  and  study  her  graceful 
lines  with  the  air  of  connoisseurs.  Barefooted 
men  fishing  on  the  shores,  in  broad  straw 
hats,  and  blue  jeans,  invariably  "pass  the 
time  o'  day"  with  us  as  we  glide  by,  crying 
out  as  a  parting  salute,  "  Ye've  a  honey  skiff, 
thar!"  or,  "Right  smart  skiff,  thet  yere!" 

We  have  many  long,  dreary  reaches  to-day. 
Clay  banks  twelve  to  twenty  feet  in  height, 
and  growing  taller  as  the  water  recedes,  rise 
sheer  on  either  side.  Fringing  the  top  of 
each  is  often  a  row  of  locusts,  whose  roots  in 
a  feeble  way  hold  the  soil;  but  the  river  cuts 
in  at  the  base,  wherever  the  changing  current 
impinges  on  the  shore,  and  at  low  water  great 
slices,  with  a  gurgling  splash,  fall  into  the 
stream,  which  now  is  of  the  color  of  dull  gold. 
from  the  clay  held  in  solution.  Often,  ruins 
of  buildings  may  be  seen  upon  the  brink,  that 
have  collapsed  from  this  undercut  of  the  fickle 
flood;  and  many  others,  still  inhabited,  are  in 
dangerous  proximity  to  the  edge,  only  biding 
their  time. 

This  morning,  we  passed  the  Indiana  ham- 
lets of  Lewisport  (731  miles)  and  Grand  View 
(736  miles),  and  by  noon  were  at  Rockport 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  24"7 

(741  miles),  a  smart  little  city  of  three  thou- 
sand souls,  romantically  perched  upon  a  great 
rock,  which  on  the  right  bank  rises  abruptly 
from  the  wide  expanse  of  bottom.  From  the 
river,  there  is  little  to  be  seen  of  Rockport 
save  two  wharves, — one  above,  the  other  be- 
low, the  bold  cliff  which  springs  sheer  for  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  stream, — two  angling 
roads  leading  up  into  the  town,  a  house  or 
two  on  the  edge  of  the  hill  and  a  huge  water- 
tower  crowning  all. 

A  few  miles  below,  we  ran  through  a  nar- 
row channel,  a  few  rods  wide,  separating  an 
elongated  island  from  the  Indiana  shore.  It 
much  resembles  the  small  tributary  streams, 
with  a  lush  undergrowth  of  weeds  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  arched  with  monster  syca- 
mores, elms,  maples  and  persimmons.  Fre- 
quently had  we  seen  skiffs  upon  the  shore, 
arranged  with  stern  paddle-wheels,  turned  by 
levers  operated  by  men  standing  or  sitting  in 
the  boat.  But  we  had  seen  none  in  operation 
until,  shooting  down  this  side  channel,  we 
met  such  a  craft  coming  up,  manned  by  two 
fellows,  who  seemed  to  be  having  a  treadmill 
task  of  it;  they  assured  us,  however,  that 
when  a  man  was  used  to  manipulating  the 


248  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

levers  he  found  it  easier  than  rowing,  espe- 
cially in  ascending  stream. 

Yellowbank  Island,  our  camp  to-night,  lies 
nearest  the  Indiana  shore,  with  Owensboro, 
Ky.  (749  miles),  just  across  the  way.  We 
have  had  no  more  beautiful  home  on  our  long 
pilgrimage  than  this  sandy  islet,  heavily  grown 
to  stately  willows.  While  the  others  were 
preparing  dinner,  I  pulled  across  the  rapid 
current  to  an  Indiana  ferry-landing,  where 
there  is  a  row  of  mean  frame  cabins,  like  the 
negro  quarters  of  a  Southern  farm,  all  elevated 
on  posts  some  four  feet  above  the  level.  A 
half-dozen  families  live  there,  all  of  them 
small  tenant  farmers,  save  the  ferryman — a 
strapping,  good-natured  fellow,  who  appears 
to  be  the  nabob  of  the  community. 

Several  hollow  sycamore  stumps  house  sows 
and  their  litters;  but  the  only  cow  in  the 
neighborhood  is  owned  by  a  young  man  who, 
when  I  came  up,  was  watering  some  refrac- 
tory mules  at  a  pump-trough.  He  paused 
long  enough  to  summon  Boss  and  milk  a 
half-gallon  into  my  pail,  accepting  my  dime 
with  a  degree  of  thankfulness  which  was  quite 
unnecessary,  considering  that  it  was  quid  pro 
quo.  Tobacco  is  a  more  important  crop  than 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  249 

corn  hereabout,  he  said;  farmers  are  rather 
impatiently  waiting  for  rain,  to  set  out  the 
young  plants.  His  only  outbuilding  is  a  mon- 
ster corn-crib,  set  high  on  posts — the  airy 
basement,  no  better  than  an  open  shed,  serv- 
ing for  a  stable;  during  the  few  weeks  of 
severe  winter  weather,  horses  and  cow  are 
removed  to  the  main  floor,  and  canvas  nailed 
around  the  sides  to  keep  out  the  wind.  Even 
this  slight  protection  is  not  vouchsafed  stock 
by  all  planters;  the  majority  of  them  appear 
to  provide  only  rain  shelters,  and  even  these 
can  be  of  slight  avail  in  a  driving  storm. 

Later,  in  the  failing  light,  W —  and  I  pulled 
together  over  to  the  "cracker"  settlement, 
seeking  drinking-water.  A  stout  young  man 
was  seated  on  the  end  of  the  ferry  barge, 
talking  earnestly  with  the  ferryman's  daughter, 
a  not  unattractive  girl,  but  pale  and  thin,  as 
these  women  are  apt  to  be.  Evidently  they 
are  lovers,  and  not  ashamed  of  it,  for  they 
gave  us  a  friendly  smile  as  we  knotted  our 
painter  to  the  barge-rail,  and  expressed  great 
interest  in  Pilgrim,  she  being  of  a  pattern  new 
to  them. 

We  are  in  a  noisy  corner  of  the  world. 
Over  on  the  Indiana  bottom,  a  squeaky  fiddle  is 


250  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

grinding  out  dance-tunes,  hymns  and  ballads 
with  charming  indifference.  We  thought  we 
detected  in  a  high-pitched  "Annie  Laurie'1 
the  voice  of  the  ferryman's  daughter.  There 
seems,  too,  to  be  a  deal  of  rowing  on  the 
river,  evidently  Owensboro  folk  getting  back 
to  town  from  a  day  in  the  country,  and  coun- 
try folk  hieing  home  after  a  day  in  the  city. 
The  ferryman  is  in  much  demand,  judging 
from  the  frequent  ringing  of  his  bell, — one  on 
either  bank,  set  between  two  tall  posts,  with 
a  rope  dangling  from  the  arm.  At  early  dusk, 
the  cracked  bell  of  the  Owensboro  Bethel  re- 
sounded harshly  in  our  ears,  as  it  advertised 
an  evening  service  for  the  floating  population; 
and  now  the  wheezy  strains  of  a  melodeon 
tell  us  that,  although  we  stayed  away,  doubt- 
less others  have  been  attracted  thither.  The 
sepulchral  roars  of  passing  steamers  echo 
along  the  wooded  shore,  the  night  wind  rustles 
the  tree-tops,  Owensboro  dogs  are  much 
awake,  and  the  electric  lamps  of  the  city 
throw  upon  our  canvas  screen  the  fantastic 
shadows  of  leaves  and  dancing  boughs. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FISHERMEN'S  TALES — SKIFF  NOMENCLATURE — 
GREEN  RIVER  —  EVANSVILLE  —  HENDER- 
SON— AUDUBON  AND  RAFINESQUE — FLOAT- 
ING TRADE — THE  WABASH. 

GREEN  RIVER  TOWHEAD,  Monday,  June 
4th. — We  were  shopping  in  Owensboro,  this 
morning,  soon  after  seven  o'clock.  The  busi- 
ness quarter  was  just  stirring  into  life;  and 
the  negroes  who  were  lounging  about  on  every 
hand  were  still  drowsy,  as  if  they  had  passed 
the  night  there,  and  were  reluctant  to  be  up 
and  doing.  There  is  a  pretty  court-house  in 
a  green  park,  the  streets  are  well  paved,  and 
the  shops  clean  and  bright,  with  their  wares 
mostly  under  the  awnings  on  the  sidewalk,  for 
people  appear  to  live  much  out  of  doors  here — 
and  well  they  may,  with  the  temperature  73° 
at  this  early  hour,  and  every  promise  of  a 
scorching  day. 

I  wonder  if  a  fisherman  could,  if  he  tried, 
be  exact  in  his  statements.  One  of  them, 
below  Owensboro,  who  kept  us  company  for 
251 


252  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

a  mile  or  two  down  stream,  declared  that  at 
this  stage  of  the  water  he  made  forty  and  fifty 
dollars  a  week,  "'n'  I  reck'n  I  ote  to  be  con- 
tint."  A  few  miles  farther  on,  another  com- 
plained that  when  the  river  was  falling,  the 
water  was  so  muddy  the  fish  would  not  bite; 
and  even  in  the  best  of  seasons,  a  fisherman 
had  "a  hard  pull  uv  it;  hit  ain't  no  business 
fer  a  decent  man  !"  The  other  day,  when  the 
river  was  rising,  a  Cincinnati  follower  of  the 
apostle's  calling  averred  that  there  was  no  use 
fishing  when  the  water  was  coming  up.  As 
the  variable  Ohio  is  like  the  ocean  tide,  ever 
rising  or  falling,  it  would  seem  that  the  thou- 
sands in  this  valley  who  make  fishing  their 
livelihood  must  be  playing  a  losing  game. 

There  are  many  beautiful  islands  on  these 
lower  reaches  of  the  river.  We  followed  the 
narrow  channel  between  Little  Hurricane  and 
the  Kentucky  shore,  a  charming  run  of  two  or 
three  miles,  with  both  banks  a  dense  tangle 
of  drift-wood,  weeds  and  vines.  Between 
Three-Mile  Island  and  Indiana,  is  another  in- 
teresting cut-short,  where  the  shores  are  un- 
disturbed by  the  work  of  the  main  stream, 
and  trees  and  undergrowth  come  down  to  the 
water's  edge;  the  air  is  quivering  with  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  253 

songs  of  birds,  and  resonant  with  sweet  smells; 
while  over  stumps,  and  dead  and  fallen  trees, 
grape-vines  luxuriantly  festoon  and  cluster. 
Near  the  pretty  group  of  French  Islands,  two 
government  dredges,  with  their  boarding 
barges,  were  moored  to  the  Kentucky  shore — 
waiting  for  coal,  we  were  told,  before  resum- 
ing operations  in  the  planting  of  a  dike.  I 
took  a  snap-shot  at  the  fleet,  and  heard  one 
man  shout  to  another,  "Bill,  did  yer  notice 
they've  a  photograph  gallery  aboord  ?"  They 
appear  to  be  a  jolly  lot,  these  dredgers,  and 
inclined  to  take  life  easily,  in  accordance  with 
the  traditions  of  government  employ. 

We  frequently  see  skiffs  hauled  upon  the 
beach,  or  moored  between  two  protecting 
posts,  to  prevent  their  being  swamped  by 
steamer  wakes.  The  names  they  bear  interest 
us,  as  betokening,  perhaps,  the  proclivities  of 
their  owners.  "Little  Joe,"  "Little  Jim," 
"Little  Maggie,"  and  like  diminutives,  are 
common  here,  as  upon  the  towing-tugs  and 
steam  ferries  of  broader  waters — and  now  and 
then  we  have,  by  contrast,  "Xerxes,"  "Achil- 
les, "  ' '  Hercules. "  Sometimes  the  skiff  is  named 
after  its  owner's  wife  or  sweetheart,  as 
"Maggie  G.,"  "Polly  H.,"  or  from  the  rustic 


254  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

goddesses,  "Pomona,"  "Flora,"  "Ceres;"  on 
the  Kentucky  shore,  we  have  noted  ' '  Stone- 
wall Jackson,"  and  "Robert  E.  Lee,"  and 
one  Ohio  boat  was  labeled  "Little  Phil." 
Literature  we  found  represented  to-day,  by 
"Octave  Thanet" — the  only  case  on  record, 
for  the  Ohio-River  "cracker"  is  not  greatly 
given  to  books.  Slang  claims  for  its  own, 
many  of  these  knockabout  craft — "  U.  Bet," 
"Git  Thair,"  "Go  it,  Eli,"  "Whoa,  Emma!" 
and  nondescripts,  like  "Two  Doves,"  "Poker 
Chip,"  and  "Game  Chicken,"  are  not  infre- 
quent. 

In  these  stately  solitudes,  towns  are  far  be- 
tween. Enterprise,  Ind.  (755  miles),  is  an 
unpainted  village  with  a  dismal  view — back 
of  and  around  it,  wide  bottom  lands,  with 
hills  in  the  far  distance;  up  and  down  the 
river,  precipitous  banks  of  clay,  with  willow 
fringes  on  that  portion  of  the  shore  which  is 
not  being  cut  by  the  impinging  current.  Scuf- 
fletown,  Ky.  (767  miles),  is  uninviting.  New- 
burgh,  on  the  edge  of  a  bluff,  across  the  river 
in  Indiana,  is  a  ragged  little  place  that  has 
seen  better  days;  but  the  backward  view  of 
Newburgh,  from  below  Three-Mile  Island, 
made  a  pretty  picture,  the  whites  and  reds  of 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  255 

the  town  standing  out  in  sharp  relief  against 
the  dark  background  of  the  hill. 

Green  River  (775  miles),  a  gentle,  rustic 
stream,  enters  through  the  wide  bottoms  of 
Kentucky.  We  had  difficulty  in  finding  it  in 
the  wilderness  of  willows — might  not  have 
succeeded,  indeed,  had  not  the  red  smoke- 
stack of  a  small  steamer  suddenly  appeared 
above  the  bushes.  Soon,  the  puffing  craft  de- 
bouched upon  the  Ohio,  and,  quickly  overtak- 
ing us,  passed  down  toward  Evansville. 

Green  River  Towhead,  two  miles  below, 
claimed  us  for  the  night.  There  is  a  shanty, 
midway  on  the  island,  and  at  the  lower  end 
the  landing  of  a  railway-transfer.  We  have 
our  camp  at  the  upper  end,  in  a  bed  of  spot- 
less white  sand,  thick  grown  to  dwarf  willows. 
Entangled  drift-wood  lies  about  in  monster 
heaps,  lodged  in  depressions  of  the  land,  or 
against  stout  tree-trunks;  a  low  bar  of  gravel 
connects  our  home  with  Green  River  Island, 
lying  close  against  the  Indiana  bank;  sand- 
flies  freely  joined  us  at  dinner,  and  I  hear,  as 
I  write,  the  drone  of  a  solitary  mosquito, — the 
first  in  many  days;  while  upon  the  bar,  at  sun- 
set, a  score  of  turkey-buzzards  held  silent 
council,  some  of  them  occasionally  rising  and 


256  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

wheeling  about  in  mid-air,  then  slowly  light- 
ing and  stretching  their  necks,  and  flapping 
their  wings  most  solemnly,  before  rejoining 
the  conference. 

CYPRESS  BEND,  Tuesday,  5th. — The  tem- 
perature had  materially  fallen  during  the  night, 
and  the  morning  opened  gray  and  hazy. 
Evansville,  Ind.  (783  miles),  made  a  charming 
Turneresque  study,  as  her  steeples  and  factory 
chimneys  developed  through  the  mist.  It  is 
a  fine,  well-built  town,  of  some  fifty  thousand 
inhabitants,  with  a  beautiful  little  postoffice 
in  the  Gothic  style — a  refutation,  this,  of  the 
well-worn  assertion  that  there  are  no  credit- 
able government  buildings  in  our  small  Amer- 
ican cities.  A  railway  bridge  here  crosses  the 
Ohio,  numerous  sawmills  line  the  bank;  alto- 
gether, there  is  business  bustle,  the  like  of 
which  we  have  not  seen  since  leaving  Louis- 
ville. 

Henderson  (795  miles)  is  a  substantial  Ken- 
tucky town  of  nine  thousand  souls,  with  large 
tobacco  interests,  we  are  told,  ranking  next 
to  Louisville  in  this  regard.  Through  the 
morning,  the  mist  had  been  thickening. 
While  we  were  passing  beneath  the  railway 
bridge  at  Henderson,  thunder  sounded,  and 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  257 

the  western  sky  suddenly  blackened.  Pulling 
rapidly  in  to  the  town  shore,  shelter  was  found 
beneath  the  overhanging  deck  of  a  deserted 
wharf-boat.  We  had  just  completed  prepa- 
rations with  the  rubber  blankets  and  ponchos, 
when  the  deluge  came.  But  the  sheltering 
deck  was  not  water-tight;  soon  the  rain  came 
pouring  in  upon  us  through  the  uncaulked 
cracks,  and  we  were  nearly  as  badly  off  in  our 
close-smelling  quarters  as  in  the  open.  How- 
ever, we  were  a  merry  party  under  there,  with 
the  Doctor  giving  us  a  touch  of  ' '  Br'er  Rab- 
bit," and  the  boy  relating  a  fantastic  dream 
he  had  had  on  the  Towhead  last  night;  while 
I  told  them  the  story  of  Audubon,  whose  name 
will  ever  be  associated  with  Henderson. 

The  great  naturalist  was  in  business  at 
Louisville,  early  in  the  century;  but  in  1812, 
he  failed  in  this  venture,  and  moved  to  Hen- 
derson, where  his  neighbors  thought  him  a 
trifle  daft, — and  certainly  he  was  a  ne'er-do- 
well,  wandering  around  the  woods,  with  hair 
hanging  down  on  his  shoulders,  a  far-away 
look  in  his  eyes,  and  communing  with  the 
birds.  In  1818,  the  botanist  Rafinesque,  on 
the  first  of  his  several  tramps  down  the  Ohio 
valley, — he  had  a  favorite  saying,  that  the 
17 


258  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

only  way  for  a  botanist  to  travel,  was  to 
walk, — stopped  over  at  Henderson  to  visit  this 
crazy  fellow  of  whom  he  had  heard.  Raf- 
inesque  had  a  hope  that  Audubon  might  buy 
some  of  his  colored  drawings;  but  when  he 
saw  the  wonderful  pictures  which  Audubon 
had  made,  he  acknowledged  that  his  own  were 
inferior — a  sore  confession  for  Rafinesque,  who 
was  an  egotist  of  the  first  water.  Audubon 
had  but  humble  quarters,  for  it  was  hard  work 
in  those  days  for  him  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door;  nevertheless,  he  entertained  the  dis- 
tinguished traveler,  whom  he  was  himself 
destined  to  far  eclipse.  One  night,  a  bat  flew 
into  Rafinesque's  bedroom,  and  in  driving  it 
out  he  used  his  host's  fine  Cremona  as  a  club, 
thus  making  kindling-wood  of  it.  Two  years 
later,  still  steeped  in  poverty,  Audubon  left 
Henderson.  It  was  1826  before  he  became 
known  to  the  world  of  science,  when  little  of 
his  life  was  left  in  which  to  enjoy  the  fame  at 
last  awarded  him. 

We  had  lunch  on  Henderson  Island,  three 
miles  down,  and  for  warmth  walked  briskly 
about  on  the  strand,  among  the  willow  clumps. 
It  rained  again,  after  we  had  taken  our  seats 
in  the  boat,  and  the  head-wind  which  sprang 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  259 

up  was  not  unwelcome,  for  it  necessitated  a 
right  lively  pull  to  make  headway.  W —  and 
the  Boy,  in  the  stern-sheets,  were  not  uncom- 
fortable when  swathed  to  the  chin  in  the 
blankets  which  ordinarily  serve  us  as  cushions. 

Ten  miles  below  Henderson,  was  a  little  fleet 
of  houseboats,  lying  in  a  thicket  of  willows  along 
the  Indiana  beach.  We  stopped  at  one  of 
them,  and  bought  a  small  catfish  for  dinner. 
The  fishermen  seemed  a  happy  company,  in 
this  isolated  spot.  The  women  were  engaged 
in  household  work,  but  the  men  were  spending 
the  afternoon  collected  in  the  cabin  of  one  of 
their  number,  who  had  recently  arrived  from 
Green  River.  While  waiting  for  the  fish  to 
be  caught  in  a  live-box,  I  visited  with  the  little 
band.  It  was  a  comfortable  room,  furnished 
rather  better  than  the  average  shore  cabin, 
and  the  Green  River  man's  family  of  half-a- 
dozen  were  well-kept,  pleasant-faced,  and 
polite.  Altogether  it  was  a  much  more  re- 
spectable houseboat  company  than  any  we 
have  yet  seen  on  the  river.  But  the  fish- 
stories  which  that  Green  River  man  tells,  with 
an  honest-like,  open-eyed  sobriety,  would  do 
credit  to  Munchausen. 

The  rain,  at  first  spasmodic,  became  at  last 


260  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

persistent.  Two  miles  farther  down,  at  Cy- 
press Bend  (806  miles),  we  ran  into  an  Indi- 
ana hill,  where  on  a  steep  slope  of  yellow 
shale,  all  strewn  with  rocks,  our  tent  was  hur- 
riedly pitched.  There  was  no  driving  of  pegs 
into  this  stony  base,  so  we  weighted  down  the 
canvas  with  round-heads,  and  fastened  our 
guys  to  bushes  and  boulders  as  best  we  might. 
Huddled  around  the  little  stove,  under  the  fly, 
the  crew  dined  sumptuously  en  course,  from 
canned  soup  down  to  strawberries  for  dessert, — 
for  Evansville  is  a  good  market.  It  is  not 
always,  we  pilgrims  fare  thus  high — the  re- 
sources of  Rome,  Thebes,  Bethlehem,  Hercu- 
laneum,  and  the  other  classic  towns  with 
which  the  Ohio's  banks  are  dotted,  being  none 
of  the  best.  Some  days,  we  are  fortunate  to 
have  aught  in  our  larder. 

BROWN'S  ISLAND,  Wednesday,  6th. — This 
morning's  camp-fire  was  welcome  for  its 
warmth.  The  sky  has  been  clear,  but  a  sharp, 
cold  wind  has  prevailed  throughout  the  day, 
quite  counteracting  the  sun's  rays;  we  noticed 
townsfolk  going  about  in  overcoats,  their  hands 
in  their  pockets.  In  the  ox-bow  curves,  the 
breeze  came  in  turn  from  every  quarter,  some- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  261 

times  dead  ahead  and  again  pushing  us  swiftly 
on.  In  seeking  the  lee  shore,  Pilgrim  pursued 
a  zigzag  course,  back  and  forth  between  the 
States, — now  under  the  brow  of  towering  clay 
banks,  corrugated  by  the  flood,  and  honey- 
combed by  swallows,  which  in  flocks  screamed 
and  circled  over  our  heads;  again,  closely 
brushing  the  fringe  of  willows  and  sycamores 
and  maples  on  low-lying  shores.  Thus  did 
we  for  the  most  part  paddle  in  placid  water, 
while  above  us  the  wind  whistled  in  the  tree- 
tops,  rustled  the  blooming  elders  and  the  tall 
grasses  of  the  plain,  and,  out  in  the  open  river, 
caused  white-caps  to  dance  right  merrily. 

We  met  at  intervals  to-day,  several  house- 
boats, the  most  of  them  bearing  the  inscription 
prescribed  by  the  new  Kentucky  license  law, 
which  is  now  being  enforced,  the  essential 
features  of  which  inscription  are  the  home  and 
name  of  the  owner,  and  the  date  at  which 
the  license  expires.  The  standard  of  edu- 
cation among  houseboaters  is  evinced  by  the 
legend  borne  by  a  trader's  craft  which  we 
boarded  near  Slim  Island:  "Lisens  exp.rs 
Maye  the  24  1895."  The  young  woman  in 
charge,  a  slender  creature  in  a  brilliant  red 
calico  gown,  with  blue  ribbons  at  the  corsage, 


262  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

had  been  but  recently  married  to  her  lord, 
who  was  back  in  the  country  stirring  up  trade. 
She  had  few  notions  of  business,  and  allowed 
us  to  put  our  own  prices  on  such  articles  as 
we  purchased.  The  stock  was  a  curious  med- 
ley— a  few  staple  groceries,  bacon  and  dried 
beef,  candies,  crockery,  hardware,  tobacco, 
a  small  line  of  patent  medicines,  in  which 
blood-purifiers  chiefly  prevailed,  bitters,  ginger 
beer,  and  a  glass  case  in  which  were  displayed 
two  or  three  women's  straw  hats,  gaudily- 
trimmed.  The  woman  said  their  custom  was, 
to  tie  up  to  some  convenient  shore  and  ' '  buy 
a  little  stuff  o'  the  farmers,  'n'  in  that  way 
trade  springs  up,"  and  thus  become  known. 
Two  or  three  weeks  would  exhaust  any  neigh- 
borhood, whereupon  they  would  move  on  for 
a  dozen  miles  or  so.  Late  in  the  autumn, 
they  select  a  comfortable  beach,  and  lie  by 
for  the  winter. 

Mt.  Vernon,  Ind.  (819  miles),  is  on  a  high, 
rolling  plain,  with  a  rather  pretty  little  court- 
house set  in  a  park  of  grass,  some  good  busi- 
ness buildings,  and  huge  flouring-mills,  which 
appear  to  be  the  leading  industry.  Another 
flouring-mill  town,  with  the  addition  of  the 
characteristic  Kentucky  distillery,  is  Union- 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  263 

town  (833  miles),  on  the  southern  shore — a 
bright,  neat  little  city,  backed  by  smooth, 
picturesque  green  hills. 

The  feature  of  the  day  was  the  entrance, 
through  a  dreary  stretch  of  clay  banks,  of  the 
Wabash  River  (838  miles),  which  divides  In- 
diana from  Illinois.  Three  hundred  and  sixty 
yards  wide  at  the  mouth,  about  half  the  width 
of  the  Ohio,  it  is  the  most  important  of  the 
latter's  northern  affluents,  and  pours  into  the 
main  stream  a  swift-rushing  body  of  clear, 
green  water,  which  at  first  boldly  pushes  over 
to  the  heavily-willowed  Kentucky  shore  the 
roily  mess  of  the  Ohio,  and  for  several  miles 
exerts  a  considerable  influence  in  clarification. 
The  Lower  Wabash,  flowing  through  a  soft 
clay  bottom,  runs  an  erratic  course,  and  its 
mouth  is  a  variable  location,  so  that  the 
bounds  of  Illinois  and  Indiana,  hereabout, 
fluctuate  east  and  west  according  to  the  ex- 
igencies of  the  floods.  The  far-reaching  bot- 
tom itself,  however,  is  apparently  of  slight 
value,  giving  evidence,  in  the  dreary  clumps 
of  dead  timber,  of  being  frequently  inundated. 

An  interesting  stream  is  the  Wabash,  from 
an  historical  point  of  view.  La  Salle  knew 
of  it  in  1677,  and  was  planning  to  prosecute 


264  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

his  fur  trade  over  the  Maumee  and  the  Wa- 
bash;  but  the  Iroquois  held  the  portage,  and 
for  nearly  forty  years  thereafter  forbade  its 
use  by  whites.  Joliet  thought  the  Wabash 
the  headwaters  of  what  we  know  as  the  Lower 
Ohio,  and  in  his  map  (1673)  styled  the  latter 
the  Wabash,  down  to  its  mouth.  Vincennes, 
an  old  Wabash  town,  was  one  of  the  posts 
captured  so  heroically  for  the  Americans  by 
George  Rogers  Clark,  during  the  Revolution- 
ary War.  In  1814,  there  was  established  at 
New  Harmony,  also  on  the  Wabash,  the  com- 
munistic seat  of  the  Harmonists,  who  had 
moved  thither  from  Pennsylvania,  to  which, 
dissatisfied  with  the  West,  they  returned  ten 
years  later. 

Numerous  islands  have  to-day  beautified 
the  Ohio.  Despite  their  inartistic  names, 
Diamond  and  Slim  are  tipped  at  head  and 
foot  with  charming  banks  and  willowed  sand, 
and  each  center  is  clothed  in  a  luxurious  for- 
est, rimmed  by  a  gravelly  beach  piled  high 
with  drift  and  gnarled  roots:  the  whole,  with 
startling  clearness,  inversely  reflected  in  the 
mirrored  flood.  Wabash  Island,  opposite  the 
mouth  of  the  great  tributary,  is  an  insular 
woodland  several  miles  in  length. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  265 

Among  the  prettiest  of  these  jewels  stud- 
ding our  silvery  path,  is  the  upmost  of  the 
little  group  known  as  Brown's  Islands,  on 
which  we  are  passing  the  night.  It  was  an 
easy  landing  on  the  hard  sand,  and  a  com- 
fortable carry  to  a  level  opening  in  the  wil- 
lows, where  we  have  a  model  camp  with  a 
great  round  sycamore  block  for  a  table;  an 
Evansville  newspaper  does  duty  as  a  table- 
cloth, and  two  logs  rolled  alongside  make 
seats.  Four  miles  below,  the  smoke  of  Shaw- 
neetown  (848  miles)  rises  lazily  above  the 
%dark  level  line  of  woods;  while  across  the 
river,  in  Kentucky,  there  is  an  unbroken  for- 
est fringe,  without  sign  of  life  as  far  as  the 
eye  can  reach.  A  long  glistening  bar  of  sand 
connects  our  little  island  home  with  the  Illi- 
nois mainland;  upon  it  was  being  held,  in  the 
long  twilight,  that  evening  council  of  turkey- 
buzzards,  which  we  so  often  witness  when  in 
an  island  camp.  Sand-pipers  went  fearlessly 
about  among  them,  bobbing  their  little  tails 
with  nervous  vehemence;  redbirds  trilled  their 
good-nights  in  the  tree-tops;  and,  daintily 
wading  in  the  sandy  shallows,  object  lessons 
in  patience,  were  great  blue  herons,  carefully 
peering  for  the  prey  which  never  seems  to  be 


266  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

found.  As  night  closed  in  upon  us,  owls  dis- 
mally hooted  in  the  mainland  woods,  buzzards 
betook  themselves  to  inland  roosts,  herons 
winged  their  stately  flight  to  I  know  not 
where,  and  over  on  the  Kentucky  shore  could 
faintly  be  heard  the  Marking  of  dogs  at  the 
little  "cracker"  farmsteads  hid  deep  in  the 
lowland  forest. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

SHAWNEETOWN — FARM-HOUSES    ON    STILTS— 
CAVE-IN-ROCK — AN  ISLAND  NIGHT. 

HALF-MOON  BAR,  Thursday,  June  7th. — A 
head-breeze  prevailed  all  day,  strong  enough 
to  fan  us  into  a  sense  of  coolness,  but  leaving 
the  water  as  unruffled  as  a  mill-pond;  thus  did 
we  seem,  in  the  vivid  reflections  of  the  early 
morning,  to  be  sailing  between  double  lines  of 
shore,  lovely  in  their  groupings  of  luxuriant 
trees  and  tangled  heaps  of  vine-clad  drift.  It 
was  a  hazy,  mirage-producing  atmosphere,  the 
river  appearing  to  melt  away  in  space,  and 
the  ever-charming  island  heads  looming  un- 
supported in  mid-air.  From  the  woods,  the 
piercing  note  of  locusts  filled  the  air  as  with 
the  ceaseless  rattle  of  pebbles  against  innu- 
merable window-panes. 

At  a  distance,  Shawneetown  appears  as  if 

built  upon  higher  land  than  the  neighboring 

bottom;  but  this  proves,  on  approach,  to  be 

an  optical  illusion,  for  the  town  is  walled  in  by  a 

267 


268  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

levee  some  thirty  feet  in  height,  above  the  top  of 
which  loom  its  chimneys  and  spires.  Shawnee- 
town,  laid  out  in  1808,  soon  became  an  im- 
portant post  on  the  Lower  Ohio,  and  indeed 
ranked  with  Kaskaskia  as  one  of  the  principal 
Illinois  towns,  although  in  1817  it  still  only 
contained  from  thirty  to  forty  log  dwellings. 
During  the  reign  of  the  Ohio-River  bargemen,* 
it  was  notorious  as  the  headquarters  of  the 
roughest  elements  in  that  boisterous  class,  and 
frequently  the  scene  of  most  barbarous  out- 
rages— ' '  the  odious  receptacle,"  says  a  chron- 
icler of  the  time,  "of  filth  and  villany." 

In  those  lively  days,  which  lasted  with  more 
or  less  vigor  until  about  1830, — by  which  time, 
steamboats  had  finally  overcome  popular  pre- 
judice and  gained  the  upper  hand  in  river 
transportation, — the  people  of  Shawneetown 
were  largely  dependent  on  the  trade  of  the 
salt  works  of  the  neighboring  Saline  Reserve. 
The  salt-licks — at  which  in  early  days  the 
bones  of  the  mammoth  were  found,  as  at  Big 
Bone  Lick — commenced  a  few  miles  below 
the  town,  and  embraced  a  district  of  about 
ninety  thousand  acres.  While  Illinois  was 

*  See  Chapter  XIII. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  269 

still  a  Territory,  these  salines  were  rented  by 
the  United  States  to  individuals,  but  were 
granted  to  the  new  State  (1818)  in  perpetuity. 
The  trade,  in  time,  decreased  with  the  deca- 
dence of  river  traffic;  and  Shawneetown  has 
since  had  but  slow  growth — it  now  being  a 
dreary  little  place  of  three  thousand  inhab- 
itants, with  unmistakable  evidences  of  having 
long  since  seen  its  best  days. 

The  farmers  upon  the  wide  bottoms  of  the 
lower  reaches  now  invariably  have  their  dwel- 
lings, corn-cribs,  and  tobacco-sheds  set  upon 
posts,  varying  from  five  to  ten  feet  high,  ac- 
cording to  the  surrounding  elevation  above 
the  normal  river  level.  At  present  we  are,  as 
a  rule,  hemmed  in  by  banks  full  thirty  or  forty 
feet  in  height  above  the  present  stage.  After 
a  hard  climb  up  the  steps  which  are  frequently 
found  cut  into  the  clay,  to  facilitate  access 
to  the  river,  it  is  with  something  akin  to  awe 
that  we  look  upon  these  buildings  on  stilts, 
for  they  bespeak,  in  times  of  great  flood,  a 
rise  in  the  river  of  between  fifty  and  sixty  feet. 

Three  miles  above  Saline  River,  I  scrambled 
up  to  photograph  a  farm-house  of  this  char- 
acter. In  order  to  get  the  building  within  the 
field  of  the  camera,  it  was  necessary  to  mount 


270  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

a  cob-house  of  loose  rails,  which  did  duty  as  a 
pig-pen.  A  young  woman  of  eighteen  or 
twenty  years,  attired  in  a  dazzling-red  calico 
gown,  came  out  on  the  front  balcony  to  see 
the  operation;  and,  for  a  touch  of  life,  I  held 
her  in  talk  until  the  picture  was  taken.  She 
was  not  at  all  averse  to  thus  posing,  and 
chatted  as  familiarly  as  though  we  were  old 
friends.  The  water,  my  model  said,  came  at 
least  once  a  year  to  the  main  floor  of  the  house, 
some  ten  feet  above  the  level  of  the  land,  and 
forty  feet  above  the  normal  river  stage;  ' '  every 
few  years"  it  rose  to  the  eaves  of  this  story  - 
and-a-half  dwelling,  when  the  family  would 
embark  in  boats,  hieing  off  to  the  back-lying 
hills,  a  mile-and-a-half  away.  An  event  of 
this  sort  seemed  quite  commonplace  to  the 
girl,  and  not  at  all  to  be  viewed  as  a  calamity. 
As  in  other  houses  of  the  bottom  farmers  of 
this  district,  there  is  no  wall-paper,  no  plaster 
upon  the  walls,  and  little  or  nothing  else  to  be 
injured  by  water.  Their  few  household  pos- 
sessions can  readily  be  packed  into  a  scow, 
together  with  the  live-stock,  and  behold  the 
family  is  ready,  if  need  be,  to  float  away  to 
the  ends  of  the  world.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  if 
they  carry  food  enough  with  them,  and  a  rain- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  271 

proof  tent,  their  season  on  the  hills  is  but  a 
prolonged  picnic.  When  the  waters  suffi- 
ciently subside,  they  float  back  again  to  their 
home;  the  river  mud  is  scraped  out  of  the 
rooms,  the  kitchen-stove  rubbed  up  a  bit,  and 
soon  everything  is  again  at  rights,  with  a  fresh 
layer  of  alluvial  deposit  to  fertilize  the  fields. 

Few  of  these  small  farmers  own  the  lands 
they  till;  from  Pittsburg  down,  the  great  ma- 
jority of  Ohio  River  planters  are  but  tenants. 
The  old  families  that  once  owned  the  soil  are 
living  in  the  neighboring  towns,  or  in  other 
parts  of  the  country,  and  renting  out  their 
acres  to  these  cultivators.  We  were  told  that 
the  rental  fee  around  Owensboro  is  usually  in 
kind, — fourteen  bushels  of  good,  salable  corn 
being  the  rate  per  acre.  In  "Egypt,"  as 
Southern  Illinois  is  called,  the  average  rent  is 
four  or  five  dollars  in  money,  except  in  years 
when  the  water  remains  long  upon  the  ground, 
and  thus  shortens  the  season;  then  the  fee  is 
correspondingly  reduced.  The  girl  on  the 
balcony  averred,  that  in  1893  it  amounted  to 
one-third  the  value  of  the  average  yield. 

The  numerous  huge  stilted  corn  cribs  we 
see  are  constructed  so  that  wagons  can  drive 
up  into  them,  and,  after  unloading  in  bins  on 


272  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

either  side,  descend  another  incline  at  the  far 
end.  Sometimes  a  portion  of  the  crib  is 
boarded  up  for  a  residence,  with  windows, 
and  a  little  balcony  which  does  double  duty 
as  a  porch  and  a  landing-stage  for  the  boats 
in  time  of  high  water.  Scattered  about  on 
the  level  are  loosely-built  sheds  of  rails,  for 
stock,  which  practically  live  al  fresco,  so  far 
as  actual  storm-shelter  goes. 

Usually  the  flooded  bottoms  are  denuded  of 
trees,  save  perhaps  a  narrow  fringe  along  the 
bank,  and  a  few  dead  trunks  scattered  here  and 
there;  while  back,  a  third  or  a  half-mile  from 
the  river,  lies  a  dense  line  of  forest,  far  be- 
yond which  rises  the  low  rim  of  the  basin. 
But  just  below  Saline  River  (857  miles),  a 
lazy  little  stream  of  a  few  rods'  width,  the 
hills,  now  perhaps  eighty  or  a  hundred  feet  in 
height,  again  approach  to  the  water's  edge; 
and  henceforth  to  the  mouth  we  are  to  have 
alternating  semi-circular,  wooded  bottoms  and 
shaly,  often  palisaded  uplands,  grown  to  scrub 
and  vines  much  in  the  fashion  of  some  of  the 
middle  reaches.  A  trading-boat  was  moored 
just  within  the  Saline,  where  we  stopped  for 
lunch  under  a  clump  of  sycamores.  The 
owner  obtains  butter  and  eggs  from  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  273 

farmers,  in  exchange  for  his  varied  wares,  and 
sells  them  at  a  goodly  profit  to  passing  steam- 
ers, which  will  always  stop  when  flagged. 

Approaching  Cave-in-Rock,  111.  (869  miles), 
the  right  bank  is  for  several  miles  an  almost  con- 
tinuous palisade  of  lime-stone,  thick-studded 
with  black  and  brown  flints.  In  the  breaking 
down  of  this  escarpment,  popularly  styled 
Battery  Rocks,  numerous  caves  have  been 
formed,  the  largest  of  which  gave  the  place 
its  name.  It  is  a  rather  low  opening  into  the 
rock,  perhaps  two  hundred  feet  deep,  and  the 
floor  some  twenty  feet  above  the  present  level  of 
the  river;  in  times  of  flood,  it  is  frequently  so 
filled  with  water  that  boats  enter,  and  thousands 
of  silly  people  have,  in  two  or  three  generations 
past,  carved  or  painted  their  names  upon  the 
vaulted  roof.*  From  this  large  entrance  hall, 
a  chimney-like  hole  in  the  roof  leads  to  other 
chambers,  said  to  be  imposing  and  widely 
ramified — "not  unlike  a  Gothic  cathedral," 
said  Ashe,  an  early  English  traveler  (1806), 
who  appears  to  have  everywhere  in  these 
Western  wilds  sought  the  marvellous,  and 

*  ' '  Scrawled  over  by  that  class  of  aspiring  travelers  who 
defile  noble  monuments  with  their  worthless  names." — Ir- 
ving, in  The  Alhambra. 
18 


274  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

found  it.  About  1801,  a  band  of  robbers  made 
these  inner  recesses  their  home,  and  fre- 
quently sallied  thence  to  rob  passing  boats, 
and  incidentally  to  murder  the  crews.  As  for 
the  little  hamlet  of  Cave-in-Rock,  nestled  in 
a  break  in  the  palisade,  a  few  hundred  yards 
below,  it  was,  between  1801  and  1805,  the 
seat  of  another  species  of  brigandage — a  land 
speculation,  wherein  schemers  waxed  rich 
from  the  confusion  engendered  by  conflicting 
claims  of  settlers,  the  outgrowth  of  carelessly- 
phrased  Indian  treaties  and  overlapping  French 
and  English  patents.  From  1804  to  1810,  a 
Congressional  committee  was  engaged  in 
straightening  out  this  weary  tangle;  and  its 
decisions,  ratified  by  Congress,  are  to-day  the 
foundation  of  many  land-titles  in  Indiana  and 
Illinois. 

We  are  in  camp  to-night  upon  the  Illinois 
shore,  opposite  Half-Moon  Bar  (872  miles), 
and  a  mile  above  Hurricane  Island.  Tower- 
ing above  us  are  great  sycamores,  cypress, 
maples,  and  elms,  and  all  about  a  dense  jungle 
of  grasses,  vines,  and  monster  weeds — the 
rank  horse-weed  being  now  some  ten  feet  high, 
with  a  stem  an  inch  in  diameter;  the  dead 
stalks  of  last  year's  growth,  in  the  broad  roll- 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  275 

ing  fields  to  our  rear,  indicate  a  possibility  of 
sixteen  feet,  and  an  apparent  desire  to  out- 
rival the  corn.  Cane-brake,  too,  is  prevalent 
hereabout,  with  stalks  two  inches  or  more 
thick.  The  mulberries  are  reddening,  the 
Doctor  reports  on  his  return  with  the  Boy 
from  a  botanizing  expedition,  and  black-caps 
are  turning;  while  bergamot  and  vervain  are 
among  the  plants  newly  added  to  the  her- 
barium. 

STEWART'S  ISLAND,  Friday,  8th. — We  arose 
this  morning  to  find  the  tent  as  wet  from  dew 
and  fog  as  if  there  had  been  a  shower,  and 
the  bushes  by  the  landing  were  sparkling  with 
great  beads  of  moisture.  The  bold,  black 
head  of  Hurricane  Island  stood  out  with  start- 
ling distinctness,  framed  in  rolling  fog;  through 
a  cloud-bank  on  the  horizon,  the  sun  was 
bursting  with  the  dull  glow  of  burnished  cop- 
per. By  the  time  of  starting,  the  fog  had 
lifted,  and  the  sun  swung  clear  in  a  steel-blue 
sky;  but  there  was  still  a  soft  haze  on  land 
and  river,  which  dreamily  closed  the  ever- 
changing  vistas,  and  we  seemed  to  float  through 
an  enchanted  land. 

The  approach  to  Elizabethtown,  111.    (877 


276  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

miles),  is  picturesque;  but  of  the  dry  little 
town  of  seven  hundred  souls,  with  its  rocky, 
undulating  streets  set  in  a  break  in  the  line  of 
palisades,  very  little  is  to  be  seen  from  the 
river.  Quarrying  for  paving-stones  appears 
to  be  the  chief  pursuit  of  the  Elizabethans. 
At  Rose  Clare,  111.,  a  string  of  shanties  three 
miles  below,  are  two  idle  plants  of  the  Argyle 
Lead  and  Fluor-Spar  Mining  Co.  Carrsville, 
Ky.,  is  another  arid,  hillside  hamlet,  with 
striking  escarpments  stretching  above  and  be- 
low for  several  miles.  Mammoth  boulders,  a 
dozen  or  more  feet  in  height,  relics  doubtless 
of  once  formidable  cliffs,  here  line  the  river- 
side. The  palisaded  hills  reappear  in  Illinois, 
commencing  at  Parkinson's  Landing,  a  dreary 
little  settlement  on  a  waste  of  barren,  stony 
slope  flanking  the  perpendicular  wall. 

Just  above  Golconda  Island  (890  miles),  on 
the  Illinois  side,  we  were  witness  to  a  "  meet " 
of  farmers  for  a  squirrel-hunt,  a  favorite  amuse- 
ment in  these  parts.  There  were  five  men 
upon  a  side,  all  carrying  guns;  as  we  passed, 
they  were  shaking  hands,  preparatory  to  sep- 
arating for  the  battue.  Upon  the  bank  above, 
in  a  grove  of  cypress,  pawpaw,  and  sycamore, 
their  horses  were  standing,  unhitched  from  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  277 

poles  of  the  wagons  in  which  they  had  been 
driven,  and,  tied  to  trees,  feeding  from  boxes 
set  upon  the  ground.  It  was  pleasant  to  see 
that  these  people,  who  must  lead  dreary  lives 
upon  the  malaria-stricken  and  flood-washed 
bottoms,  occasionally  take  a  holiday  with  a 
spice  of  rational  adventure  in  it;  although 
there  is  the  probability  that  this  squirrel-hunt 
may  be  followed  to-night  by  a  roystering  at 
the  village  tavern,  the  losing  side  paying  the 
score. 

We  reached  Stewart's  Island  (901  miles)  at 
five  o'clock,  and  went  into  camp  upon  the 
landing-beach  of  hard,  white  sand,  facing 
Kentucky.  The  island  is  two  miles  long,  the 
owner  living  in  Bird's  Point  Landing,  Ky., 
just  below  us — a  rather  shabby  but  pictur- 
esquely-situated little  village,  at  the  base  of 
pretty,  wooded  hills.  A  hundred  and  fifty 
acres  of  the  island  are  planted  to  corn,  and 
the  owner's  laborers — a  white  overseer  and 
five  blacks — are  housed  a  half-mile  above  us, 
in  a  rude  cabin  half-hidden  in  a  generous  ma- 
ple grove. 

The  white  man  soon  came  down  to  the 
strand,  riding  his  mule,  and  both  drank  freely 
from  the  muddy  river.  He  was  a  fairly-intel- 


278  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

ligent  young  fellow,  and  proud  of  his  mount — 
no  need  of  lines,  he  said,  for  "this  yer  mule; 
ye  on'y  say  'gee!'  and  'haw!'  and  he  done  git 
thar  ev'ry  time,  sir-r!  Tears  to  me,  he  jist 
done  think  it  out  to  hisself,  like  a  man  would. 
Hit  ain't  no  use  try'n'  boss  that  yere  mule, 
he's  thet  ugly  when  he's  sot  on  't — but  jist  pat 
him  on  th'  naick  and  say,  '  So  thar,  Solomon!' 
and  thar  ain't  no  one  knows  how  to  act  better 
'n  he." 

As  we  were  at  dinner,  in  the  twilight,  the 
five  negroes  also  came  riding  down  the  angling 
roadway,  in  picturesque  single  file,  singing 
snatches  of  camp-meeting  songs  in  that  weird 
minor  key  with  which  we  are  so  familiar  in  '  'ju- 
bilee" music.  Across  the  river,  a  Kentucky 
darky,  riding  a  mule  along  the  dusky  wood- 
land road  at  the  base  of  the  hills,  and  evidently 
going  home  from  his  work  in  the  fields,  was  sing- 
ing at  the  top  of  his  bent,  apparently  as  a  stim- 
ulus to  failing  courage.  Our  islanders  shouted 
at  him  in  derision.  The  shoreman's  replies, 
which  lacked  not  for  spice,  came  clear  and 
sharp  across  the  half-mile  of  smooth  water, 
and  his  tormentors  quickly  ceased  chaffing. 
Having  all  drunk  copiously,  men  and  mules 
resumed  their  line  of  march  up  the  bank,  and 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  279 

disappeared  as  they  came,  still  chanting  the 
crude  melodies  of  their  people.  An  hour  later, 
we  could  hear  them  at  the  cabin,  singing 
' '  John  Brown's  Body  "  and  other  old  friends — 
with  the  moon,  bright  and  clear  in  its  first 
quarter,  adding  a  touch  of  romance  to  the 
scene. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  CUMBERLAND  AND  THE  TENNESSEE — 
STATELY  SOLITUDES  —  OLD  FORT  MAS- 
SAC — DEAD  TOWNS  IN  EGYPT — THE  LAST 
CAMP — CAIRO. 

OPPOSITE  METROPOLIS,  ILL.  ,  Saturday,  June 
9th. — As  we  were  dressing  this  morning,  at 
half-past  five,  the  echoes  were  again  awakened 
by  the  vociferous  negro  on  the  Kentucky 
shore,  who  was  going  out  to  his  work  again, 
as  noisy  as  ever.  One  of  our  own  black  men 
walked  down  the  bank,  ostensibly  to  light  his 
pipe  at  the  breakfast  fire,  but  really  to  satisfy 
a  pardonable  curiosity  regarding  us.  The 
singing  brother  on  the  mainland  appeared  to 
amuse  him,  and  he  paused  to  listen,  saying, 
"Dat  yere  nigger,  he  got  too  loud  voice!" 
Then,  when  he  had  left  our  camp  and  regained 
the  top  of  the  bank,  he  leaned  upon  his  hoe 
and  yelled:  "Say,  niggah,  ober  dere!  whar 
you  git  dat  mule?" 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  .   281 

"Who  you  holl'rin'  at,  you  brack  island 
niggah?"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"You  Ian'  niggah,  you  tink  you  smart!" 

' '  I'se  so  smart,  I  done  want  no  liv'n'  on 
island,  wi'  gang  boss,  'n  not  'lowed  go  'way!" 

The  tuneful  darky  had  evidently  here 
touched  a  tender  spot,  for  our  man  turned 
back  into  the  field  to  his  work;  and  the  other, 
kicking  the  mule  into  action,  trotted  off  to  the 
tune  of  "  Dar's  a  meet'n'  here,  to-night!" 

We  went  up  into  the  field,  to  see  the  labor- 
ers cultivating  corn.  The  sun  was  blazing 
hot,  without  a  breath  of  air  stirring,  but  the 
great  black  fellows  seemed  to  mind  it  not, 
chattering  away  to  themselves  like  magpies, 
and  keeping  up  their  conversation  by  shouts, 
when  separated  from  each  other  at  the  ends 
of  plow-rows.  A  natural  levee,  eight  and  ten 
feet  high,  and  studded  with  large  tree- willows, 
rims  in  the  island  farm  like  the  edge  of  a  basin. 
We  were  told  that  this  served  as  a  barrier 
only  against  the  June  "fresh,"  for  the  regular 
spring  floods  invariably  swamp  the  place;  but 
what  is  left  within  the  bowl,  when  the  outer 
waters  subside,  soon  leaches  through  the  sandy 
soil. 

After  passing  the  pretty  shores  of  Dog  Isl- 


282  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

and,  not  far  below,  the  bold,  dark  headland 
of  Cumberland  Island  soon  bursts  upon  our 
view.  We  follow  the  narrow  eastern  channel, 
in  order  to  greet  the  Cumberland  River  (909 
miles),  which  half-way  down  its  island  name- 
sake,— at  the  woe-begone  little  village  of 
Smithland,  Ky. , — empties  a  generous  flood 
into  the  Ohio,  The  Cumberland,  perhaps 
a  quarter-of-a-mile  wide,  debouches  through 
high  clay  banks,  which  might  readily  be  melted 
in  the  turbulent  cross-currents  produced  by 
the  mingling  of  the  rivers;  but  to  avoid  this, 
the  government  engineers  have  built  a  wing- 
dam  running  out  from  the  foot  of  the  Cum- 
berland, nearly  half-way  into  the  main  river. 
This  quickly  unites  the  two  streams,  and 
the  reinforced  Ohio  is  thereafter  perceptibly 
widened. 

Tramp  steamers  are  numerous,  on  these 
lower  reaches.  We  have  seen  perhaps  a  dozen 
such  to-day,  stopping  at  the  farm  landings  as 
well  as  at  the  crude  and  infrequent  ham- 
lets,— mere  notches  of  settlement  in  the 
wooded  lines  of  shore, — doing  a  small  busi- 
ness in  chance  cargoes  and  in  passengers  who 
flag  them  from  the  bank.  A  sultry  atmos- 
phere has  been  with  us  through  the  day.  The 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  283 

glassy  surface  of  the  river  has,  when  not  lashed 
into  foam  by  passing  boats,  dazzled  the  eyes 
most  painfully.  The  hills,  from  below  Stewart's 
Island,  have  receded  on  either  side,  generally 
leaving  either  low,  broad,  heavily-timbered 
bottoms,  or  high  clay  banks  which  stretch 
back  wide  plains  of  yellow  and  gray  corn- 
land — frequently  inundated,  but  highly  pro- 
ductive. Now  and  then  the  encroaching  river 
has  remained  too  long  in  some  belt  of  forest, 
and  we  have  great  clumps  of  dead  trees,  which 
spring  aloft  in  stately  picturesqueness,  thickly- 
clad  to  the  limb-tips  with  Virginia  creeper. 
A  bit  of  shaly  hillside  occasionally  abuts  upon 
the  river,  though  less  frequently  than  above; 
and  often  such  a  spur  has  lying  at  its  feet  a 
row  of  half-immersed  boulders,  delicately  car- 
peted with  mosses  and  with  clinging  vines. 

The  Tennessee  River  (918  miles),  trie  larg- 
est of  the  Ohio's  tributaries,  is,  where  it  enters, 
about  half  the  width  of  the  latter.  Coming 
down  through  a  broad,  forested  bottom,  with 
several  pretty  islands  off  its  mouth,  it  presents 
a  pleasing  picture.  Here  again  the  govern- 
ment has  been  obliged  to  put  in  costly  works 
to  stop  the  ravages  of  the  mingling  torrents 
in  the  soft  alluvial  banks.  The  Ohio,  with 


284  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

the  united  waters  of  the  Cumberland  and  the 
Tennessee,  henceforth  flows  majestically  to 
the  Mississippi,  a  full  mile  wide  between  her 
shores. 

Paducah  (i  3,000  inhabitants),  next  to  Louis- 
ville Kentucky's  most  important  river  port, 
lies  on  a  high  plain  just  below  the  Tennessee. 
It  is  a  stirring  little  city,  with  the  usual  large 
proportion  of  negroes,  and  the  out-door  busi- 
ness life  everywhere  met  with  in  the  South. 
Saw-mills,  iron  plants,  and  ship-yards  line  the 
bank;  at  the  wharf  are  large  steamers  doing 
a  considerable  business  up  the  Cumberland 
and  Tennessee,  and  between  Paducah  and 
Cairo  and  St.  Louis;  and  there  is  a  consider- 
able ferry  business  to  and  from  the  Illinois 
suburb  of  Brooklyn. 

Seven  miles  below  the  Tennessee,  on  the 
Illinois  side,  we  sought  relief  from  the  blazing 
sun  within  the  mouth  of  Seven  Mile  Creek, 
which  is  cut  deep  through  sloping  banks  of 
mud,  and  overhung  by  great  sprawling  syca- 
mores. These  always  interest  us  from  the 
generosity  of  their  height  and  girth,  and  from 
their  great  variety  of  color-tones,  induced  by 
the  patchy  scaling  of  the  bark — soft  grays, 
buffs,  greens,  and  ivory  whites  prevailing. 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  285 

When  sufficiently  refreshed  in  this  cool  bower, 
we  ventured  once  more  into  the  fierce  light  of 
the  open  river,  and  two  miles  below  shot  into 
the  broader  and  more  inviting  Massac  Creek 
(928  miles),  just  as,  of  old,  George  Rogers 
Clark  did  with  his  little  flotilla,  when  en  route 
to  capture  Kaskaskia.  Clark,  in  his  Journal 
written  long  after  the  event,  said  that  this 
creek  is  a  mile  above  Fort  Massac;  his  mem- 
ory failed  him — as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
steep,  low  hill  of  iron-stained  gravel  and  clay, 
on  which  the  old  stronghold  was  built,  is  but 
two  hundred  yards  below.* 

The  French  commander  who,  in  October, 
1758,  evacuated  and  burned  Fort  Duquesne 
on  the  approach  of  the  English  army  under 
General  Forbes,  dropped  down  the  Ohio  for 
nearly  a  thousand  miles,  and  built  "a  new 
fort  on  a  beautiful  eminence  on  the  north  bank 
of  the  river."  But  there  was  a  fortified  post 
on  this  hillock  at  a  much  earlier  date  (about 
1711),  erected  as  a  headquarters  for  mission- 
aries, and  to  guard  French  fur-traders  from 

*  "  In  the  evening  of  the  same  day  I  ran  ray  Boats  into  a 
small  Creek  about  one  mile  above  the  old  Fort  Missack;  Re- 
posed ourselves  for  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  took  a 
Rout  to  the  Northwest."— Clark's  letter  to  Mason. 


286  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

marauding  Cherokees ;  and  Pownall's  map  notes 
one  here  in  1751.  This  fort  of  1758  was  but 
an  enlarged  edition  of  the  old.  The  new 
stronghold,  with  a  garrison  of  a  hundred  men, 
was  the  last  built  by  the  French  upon  the  Ohio, 
and  it  was  occupied  by  them  until  they  evac- 
uated the  country  in  1763.  England  does  not 
appear  to  have  made  any  attempt  to  repair 
and  occupy  the  works  then  destroyed  by  the 
French,  although  urged  to  do  so  by  her  mili- 
tary agents  in  the  West.  Had  they  held  Fort 
Massac,  no  doubt  Clark's  expedition  to  capture 
the  Northwest  for  the  Americans  might  easily 
have  been  nipped  in  the  bud;  as  it  was,  the 
old  fortress  was  a  ruin  when  he  "reposed"  on 
the  banks  of  the  creek  at  its  feet. 

When,  in  1793-1794,  the  French  agent 
Genet  was  fomenting  his  scheme  for  capturing 
Louisiana  and  Florida  from  Spain,  by  the  aid 
of  Western  filibusters,  old  Fort  Massac  was 
thought  of  as  a  rallying-point  and  base  of  sup- 
plies; but  St.  Clair's  proclamation  of  March 
24,  1794,  ordering  General  Wayne  to  restore 
and  garrison  the  place,  for  the  purpose  of  pre- 
venting the  proposed  expedition  from  passing 
down  the  river,  ended  the  conspiracy,  and  Genet 
left  the  country.  A  year  later,  Spain,  who  had  at 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  287 

intervals  sought  to  detach  the  Westerners  from 
the  Union,  and  ally  them  with  her  interests 
beyond  the  Mississippi,  renewed  her  attempts 
at  corrupting  the  Kentuckians,  and  gained  to 
her  cause  no  less  a  man  than  George  Rogers 
Clark  himself.  Among  other  designs,  Fort 
Massac  was  to  be  captured  by  the  adventurers, 
whom  Spain  was  to  supply  with  the  sinews  of 
war.  There  was  much  mysterious  correspond- 
ence between  the  latter's  corruption  agent, 
Thomas  Power,  and  the  American  General 
Wilkinson,  at  Detroit;  but  finally  Power,  in 
disguise,  was  sent  out  of  the  country  under 
guard,  by  way  of  Fort  Massac,  and  his  escape 
into  Spanish  territory  practically  ended  this 
interesting  episode  in  Western  history.  The 
fort  was  occupied  as  a  military  post  by  our 
government  until  the  close  of  the  War  of 
1812-15;  what  we  see  to-day,  are  the  ruins  of 
the  establishment  then  abandoned. 

No  doubt  the  face  of  this  rugged  promon- 
tory of  gravel  has,  within  a  century,  suffered 
much  from  floods;  but  the  remains  of  the 
earthwork  on  the  crest  of  the  cliff,  some  fifty 
feet  above  the  present  river-stage,  are  still 
easily  traceable  throughout.  The  fort  was 
about  forty  yards  square,  with  a  bastion  at 


288  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

each  corner;  there  are  the  remains  of  an  un- 
stoned  well  near  the  center;  the  ditch  sur- 
rounding the  earthwork  is  still  some  two-and- 
a-half  or  three  feet  below  the  surrounding 
level,  and  the  breastwork  about  two  feet  above 
the  inner  level;  no  doubt,  palisades  once  sur- 
mounted the  work,  and  were  relied  upon  as  the 
chief  protection  from  assault.  The  grounds, 
a  pleasant  grassy  grove  several  acres  in  extent, 
are  now  enclosed  by  a  rail  fence,  and  neatly 
maintained  as  a  public  park  by  the  little  city 
of  Metropolis,  which  lies  not  far  below.  It 
was  a  commanding  view  of  land  and  river, 
which  was  enjoyed  by  the  garrison  of  old  Fort 
Massac.  Up  stream,  there  is  a  straight  stretch 
of  eleven  miles  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee; 
both  up  and  down,  the  shore  lines  are  under 
full  survey,  until  they  melt  away  in  the  dis- 
tance. No  enemy  could  well  surprise  the 
holders  of  this  key  to  the  Lower  Ohio. 

Our  camp  is  on  the  sandy  beach  opposite 
Metropolis,  and  two  hundred  yards  below  the 
Kentucky  end  of  the  ferry.  Behind  us  lies  a 
deep  forest,  with  sycamores  six  and  eight  feet 
in  diameter;  a  country  road  curving  off  through 
the  woods,  to  the  sparse  rustic  settlement  lying 
some  two  miles  in  the  interior — on  higher 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  289 

ground  than  this  wooded  bottom,  which  is  an- 
nually overflowed.  Now  and  then  the  bluster- 
ing little  steam-ferry  comes  across  to  land 
Kentucky  farm-folk  and  their  mules,  going 
home  from  a  Saturday's  shopping  in  Metrop- 
olis. Occasionally  a  fisherman  passes,  lagging 
on  his  oars  to  scan  us  and  our  quarters;  and 
from  one  of  them,  we  purchased  a  fish.  As 
the  still,  cool  night  crept  on,  Metropolis  was 
astir;  across  the  mile  of  intervening  water, 
darted  tremulous  shafts  of  light;  we  heard 
voices  singing  and  laughing,  a  fiddle  in  its 
highest  notes,  the  puffing  of  a  stationary  en- 
gine, and  the  bay  and  yelp  of  countless  dogs. 
Later,  a  packet  swooped  down  with  smothered 
roar,  and  threw  its  electric  search-light  on  the 
city  wharf,  revealing  a  crowd  of  negroes  gath- 
ered there,  like  moths  in  the  radiance  of  a 
candle;  there  were  gay  shouts,  and  a  mad 
scampering — we  could  see  it  all,  as  plainly  as 
if  in  ordinary  light  it  had  been  but  a  third  of 
the  distance;  and  then  the  roustabouts  struck 
up  a  weird  song  as  they  ran  out  the  gang- 
plank, and,  laden  with  boxes  and  bales,  began 
swarming  ashore,  like  a  procession  of  black 
ants  carrying  pupa  cases. 
19 


290  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

MOUND  CITY  TOWHEAD,  Sunday,  loth. — 
During  the  night,  burglarious  pigs  would  have 
raided  our  larder,  but  the  crash  of  a  falling 
kettle  wakened  us  suddenly,  as  did  geese  the 
ancient  Romans.  The  Doctor  and  I  sallied 
forth  in  our  pajamas,  with  clods  of  clay  in 
hand,  to  send  the  enemy  flying  back  into  the 
forest,  snorting  and  squealing  with  baffled 
rage. 

We  were  afloat  at  half-past  seven,  under  an 
unclouded  sky,  with  the  sun  sharply  reflected 
from  the  smooth  surface  of  the  river,  and  the 
temperature  rapidly  mounting. 

The  Fort  Massac  ridge  extends  down  stream 
as  far  as  Mound  City,  but  soon  degenerates 
into  a  ridge  of  clay  varying  in  height  from 
twenty-five  to  fifty  feet  above  the  water  level. 
Upon  the  low-lying  bottom  of  the  Kentucky 
shore,  is  still  an  interminable  dark  line  of 
forest.  The  settlements  are  meager,  and  now 
wholly  in  Illinois:  For  instance,  Joppa  (936 
miles),  a  row  of  a  half-dozen  unpainted,  dilap- 
idated buildings,  chiefly  stores  and  abandoned 
warehouses,  bespeaking  a  river  traffic  of  the 
olden  time,  that  has  gone  to  decay;  a  hot, 
dreary,  baking  spot,  this  Joppa,  as  it  lies 
sprawling  upon  the  clay  ridge,  flanked  by  a 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  291 

low,  wide  gravel  beach,  on  which  gaunt,  bell- 
ringing  cows  are  wandering,  eating  the  leaves 
of  fallen  trees,  for  lack  of  better  pasturage. 
Our  pilot  map,  of  sixty  years  ago,  records  the 
presence  of  Wilkinsonville  (942  miles),  on  the 
site  of  old  Fort  Wilkinson  of  the  War  of  1812- 
15,  but  no  one  along  the  banks  appears  to 
have  ever  heard  of  it;  however,  after  much 
searching,  we  found  the  place  for  ourselves, 
on  an  eminence  of  fifty  feet,  with  two  or  three 
farm-houses  as  the  sole  relics  of  the  old  estab- 
lishment. Caledonia  (Olmstead  P.  O.),  nine 
miles  down,  consists  of  several  large  buildings 
on  a  hill  set  well  back  from  the  river.  Mound 
City  (959  miles), — the  ' '  America  "  of  our  time- 
worn  map, — in  whose  outskirts  we  are  camped 
to-night,  is  a  busy  town  with  furniture  fac- 
tories, lumber  mills,  ship-yards,  and  a  railway 
transfer.  Below  that,  stretches  the  vast  ex- 
tent of  swamp  and  low  woodland  on  which 
Cairo  (967  miles)  has  with  infinite  pains  been 
built — like  "brave  little  Holland,"  holding 
her  own  against  the  floods  solely  by  virtue  of 
her  encircling  dike. 

Houseboats  have  been  few,  to-day,  and  they 
of  the  shanty  order  and  generally  stranded 
high  upon  the  beach.  One  sees  now  and  then, 


292  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

on  the  Illinois  ridge,  the  cheap  log  or  frame 
house  of  a  ' '  cracker, "  the  very  picture  of  des- 
olate despair;  but  on  the  Kentucky  shore  are 
few  signs  of  life,  for  the  bpttom  lies  so  low 
that  it  is  frequently  inundated,  and  settlement 
ventures  no  nearer  than  two  or  three  miles 
from  the  riverside.  A  fisherman  comes  occa- 
sionally into  view,  upon  this  wide  expanse  of 
wood  and  water  and  clay-banks;  sometimes 
we  hail  him  in  passing,  always  getting  a  re- 
spectful answer,  but  a  stare  of  innocent  curi- 
osity. 

Our  last  home  upon  the  Ohio  is  facing  the 
Kentucky  shore,  on  the  cleanly  sand-beach  of 
Mound  City  Towhead,  a  small  island  which 
in  times  of  high  water  is  but  a  bar.  The  tent 
is  screened  in  a  willow  clump;  just  below  us, 
on  higher  ground,  sycamores  soar  heaven- 
ward, gayly  festooned  with  vines,  hiding  from 
us  Mound  City  and  the  Illinois  mainland. 
Across  the  river,  a  Kentucky  negro  is  singing 
in  the  gloaming;  but  it  is  over  a  mile  away, 
and,  while  the  tune  is  plain,  the  words  are 
lost.  Children's  voices,  and  the  bay  of 
hounds,  come  wafted  to  us  from  the  northern 
shore.  A  steamer's  wake  rolls  along  our  isl- 
and strand,  dangerously  near  the  camp-fire; 


AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO  293 

the  river  is  still  falling,  however,  and  we  no 
longer  fear  the  encroachments  of  the  flood. 
The  Doctor  and  I  found  a  secluded  nook, 
where  in  the  moonlight  we  took  our  final 
plunge. 

It  is  sad,  this  bidding  good-bye  to  the  stream 
which  has  floated  us  so  merrily  for  a  thousand 
miles,  from  the  mountains  down  to  the  plain. 
We  elders  linger  long  by  the  last  camp-fire, 
to  talk  in  fond  reminiscence  of  the  six  weeks 
afloat;  while  the  Boy  no  doubt  dreams  peace- 
fully of  houseboats  and  fishermen,  of  gigantic 
bridges  and  flashing  steel-plants,  of  coal-mines 
and  oil-wells,  of  pioneers  and  Indians,  and  all 
that — of  six  weeks  of  kaleidoscopic  sensations, 
at  an  age  when  the  mind  is  keenly  active,  and 
the  heart  open  to  impressions  which  can 
never  be  dimmed  so  long  as  his  little  life  shall 
last. 

CAIRO,  Monday,  i  ith. — At  our  island  camp, 
last  night,  we  were  but  nine  miles  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Ohio,  a  distance  which  could 
easily  have  been  made  before  sundown;  but 
we  preferred  to  reach  our  destination  in  the 
morning,  the  better  to  arrange  for  railway 
transportation,  hence  our  agreeable  pause  up- 
on the  Towhead. 


294  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

Before  embarking  for  the  last  run,  this 
morning,  we  made  a  neat  heap  on  the  beach, 
of  such  of  our  stores,  edible  and  wearable,  as 
had  been  requisite  to  the  trip,  but  were  not 
worth  the  cost  of  sending  home.  Feeling 
confident  that  some  passing  fisherman  would 
soon  be  tempted  ashore  to  inspect  this  curi- 
ous landmark,  and  yet  might  be  troubled  by 
nice  scruples  as  to  the  policy  of  appropriating 
the  find,  we  conspicuously  labeled  it:  "Aban- 
doned by  the  owners!  The  finder  is  welcome 
to  the  lot." 

Quickly  passing  Mound  City,  now  bustling 
with  life,  Pilgrim  closely  skirted  the  monoto- 
nous clay-banks  of  Illinois,  swept  rapidly  un- 
der the  monster  railway  bridge  which  stalks 
high  above  the  flood,  and  loses  itself -over  the 
tree-tops  of  the  Kentucky  bottom,  and  at  a 
quarter-past  eight  o'clock  was  pulled  up  at 
Cairo,  with  the  Mississippi  in  plain  sight  over 
there,  through  the  opening  in  the  forest.  In 
another  hour  or  two,  she  will  be  housed  in  a 
box-car;  and  we,  her  crew,  having  again 
donned  the  garb  of  landsmen,  will  be  speed- 
ing toward  our  northern  home,  this  pilgrimage 
but  a  memory. 

Such  a  memory!     As  we  dropped  below  the 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO  295 

Towhead,  the  Boy,  for  once  silent,  wistfully 
gazed  astern.  When  at  last  Pilgrim  had  been 
hauled  upon  the  railway  levee,  and  the  Doctor 
and  I  had  gone  to  summon  a  shipping  clerk, 
the  lad  looked  pleadingly  into  W — 's  face. 
In  tones  half-choked  with  tears,  he  expressed 
the  sentiment  of  all:  "Mother,  is  it  really 
ended  ?  Why  can't  we  go  back  to  Browns- 
ville, and  do  it  all  over  again  ?" 


APPENDIX   A. 

HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  OF  OHIO  VALLEY 
SETTLEMENT. 

Englishmen  had  no  sooner  set  foot  upon  our 
continent,  than  they  began  to  penetrate  inland 
with  the  hope  of  soon  reaching  the  Western 
Ocean,  which  the  coast  savages,  almost  as 
ignorant  of  the  geography  of  the  interior  as 
the  Europeans  themselves,  declared  lay  just 
beyond  the  mountains.  In  1586,  we  find 
Ralph  Lane,  governor  of  Raleigh's  ill-fated 
colony,  leading  his  men  up  the  Roanoke  River 
for  a  hundred  miles,  only  to  turn  back  dis- 
heartened at  the  rapids  and  falls,  which  neces- 
sitated frequent  portages  through  the  forest 
jungles.  Twenty  years  later  (1606),  Christo- 
pher Newport  and  the  redoubtable  John  Smith, 
of  Jamestown,  ascended  the  James  as  far  as 
the  falls — now  Richmond,  Va. ;  and  Newport 
himself,  the  following  year,  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing a  point  forty  miles  beyond,  but  here  again 
was  appalled  by  the  difficulties  and  returned. 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  297 

There  was,  after  this,  a  deal  of  brave  talk 
about  scaling  the  mountains;  but  nothing 
further  was  done  until  1650,  when  Edward 
Bland  and  Edward  Pennant  again  tried  the 
Roanoke,  though  without  penetrating  the  wil- 
derness far  beyond  Lane's  turning  point.  It 
is  recorded  that,  in  1669,  John  Lederer,  an 
adventurous  German  surgeon,  commissioned 
as  an  explorer  by  Governor  Berkeley,  as- 
cended to  the  summit  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  in 
Madison  County,  Va. ;  but  although  he  was 
once  more  on  the  spot  the  following  season, 
with  a  goodly  company  of  horsemen  and  In- 
dians, and  had  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  over- 
mountain  country,  he  does  not  appear  to 
have  descended  into  the  world  of  woodland 
which  lay  stretched  between  him  and  the  set- 
ting sun.  It  seems  to  be  well  established  that 
the  very  next  year  (1671),  a  party  under  Abra- 
ham Wood,  one  of  Governor  Berkeley's  major- 
generals,  penetrated  as  far  as  the  Great  Falls 
of  the  Great  Kanawha,  only  eighty  miles  from 
the  Ohio — doubtless  the  first  English  explora- 
tion of  waters  flowing  into  the  latter  river. 
The  Great  Kanawha  was,  by  Wood  himself, 
called  New  River,  but  the  geographers  of  the 
time  styled  it  Wood's.  The  last  title  was 


298  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

finally  dropped;  the  stream  above  the  mouth 
of  the  Gauley  is,  however,  still  known  as  New. 
These  several  adventurers  had  now  demon- 
strated that  while  the  waters  beyond  the 
mountains  were  not  the  Western  Ocean,  they 
possibly  led  to  such  a  sea;  and  it  came  to  be 
recognized,  too,  that  the  continent  was  not  as 
narrow  as  had  up  to  this  time  been  supposed. 

Meanwhile,  the  French  of  Canada  were 
casting  eager  eyes  toward  the  Ohio,  as  a  gate- 
way to  the  continental  interior.  But  the 
French-hating  Iroquois  held  fast  the  upper 
waters  of  the  Mohawk,  Delaware,  and  Susque- 
hanna,  and  the  long  but  narrow  watershed 
sloping  northerly  to  the  Great  Lakes,  so  that 
the  westering  Ohio  was  for  many  years  sealed 
to  New  France.  An  important  factor  in  Amer- 
ican history  this,  for  it  left  the  great  valley 
practically  free  from  whites  while  the  English 
settlements  were  strengthening  on  the  sea- 
board; when  at  last  the  French  were  ready 
aggressively  to  enter  upon  the  coveted  field, 
they  had  in  the  English  colonists  formidable 
and  finally  successful  rivals. 

It  is*  believed  by  many,  and  the  theory  is 
not  unreasonable,  that  the  great  French  fur- 
trader  and  explorer,  La  Salle,  was  at  the  Falls 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  299 

of  the  Ohio  (site  of  Louisville)  "in  the  autumn 
or  early  winter  of  1669."  How  he  got  there, 
is  another  question.  Some  antiquarians  be- 
lieve that  he  reached  the  Alleghany  by  way 
of  the  Chautauqua  portage,  and  descended  the 
Ohio  to  the  Falls;  others,  that  he  ascended 
the  Maumee  from  Lake  Erie,  and,  descending 
the  Wabash,  thus  discovered  the  Ohio.  It 
was  reserved  for  the  geographer  Franquelin  to 
give,  in  his  map  of  1688,  the  first  fairly-accu- 
rate idea  of  the  Ohio's  path;  and  Father  Hen- 
nepin's  large  map  of  1697  showed  that  much 
had  meanwhile  been  learned  about  the  river. 
No  doubt,  by  this  time,  the  great  waterway 
was  well-known  to  many  of  the  most  adven- 
turous French  and  English  fur-traders,  possibly 
better  to  the  latter  than  to  the  former;  unfor- 
tunately, these  men  left  few  records  behind 
them,  by  which  to  trace  their  discoveries.  As 
early  as  1684,  we  incidentally  hear  of  the  Ohio 
as  a  principal  route  for  the  Iroquois,  who 
brought  peltries  "from  the  direction  of  the 
Illinois"  to  the  English  at  Albany,  and  the 
French  at  Quebec.  Two  years  after  this,  ten 
English  trading-canoes,  loaded  with  goods, 
were  seen  on  Lake  Erie  by  French  agents, 
who  in  great  alarm  wrote  home  to  Quebec 


300  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

about  them.  Writes  De  Nonville  to  Seignelay, 
' « I  consider  it  a  matter  of  importance  to  pre- 
clude the  English  from  this  trade,  as  they 
doubtless  would  entirely  ruin  ours — as  well  by 
the  cheaper  bargains  they  would  give  the  In- 
dians, as  by  attracting  to  themselves  the  French 
of  our  colony  who  are  in  the  habit  of  resorting 
to  the  woods." 

Herein  lay  the  gist  of  the  whole  matter: 
The  legalized  monopoly  granted  to  the  great 
fur-trade  companies  of  New  France,  with  the 
official  corruption  necessary  to  create  and  per- 
petuate that  monopoly,  made  the  French  trade 
an  expensive  business,  consequently  goods  were 
dear.  On  the  other  hand,  the  trade  of  the 
English  was  untrammeled,  and  a  lively  com- 
petition lowered  prices.  The  French  cajoled 
the  Indians,  and  fraternized  with  them  in  their 
camps;  whereas,  the  English  despised  the  sav- 
ages, and  made  little  attempt  to  disguise  their 
sentiments.  The  French,  while  claiming  all 
the  country  west  of  the  Alleghanies,  cared 
little  for  agricultural  colonization;  they  would 
keep  the  wilderness  intact,  for  the  fostering  of 
wild  animals,  upon  the  trade  in  whose  furs 
depended  the  welfare  of  New  France^-and 
this,  too,  was  the  policy  of  the  savage.  By 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  301 

English  statesmen  at  home,  our  continental 
interior  was  also  chiefly  prized  for  its  forest 
trade,  which  yielded  rich  returns  for  the  mer- 
chant adventurers  of  London.  The  policies 
of  the  English  colonists  and  of  their  general 
government  were  ever  clashing.  The  latter 
looked  upon  the  Indian  trade  as  an  entering 
wedge;  they  thought  of  the  West  as  a  place 
for  growth.  Close  upon  the  heels  of  the 
path-breaking  trader,  went  the  cattle-raiser, 
and,  following  him,  the  agricultural  settler 
looking  for  cheap,  fresh,  and  broader  lands. 
No  edicts  of  the  Board  of  Trade  could  repress 
these  backwoodsmen;  savages  could  and  did 
beat  them  back  for  a  time,  but  the  annals  of 
the  border  are  lurid  with  the  bloody  struggle 
of  the  borderers  for  a  clearing  in  the  Western 
forest.  The  greater  part  of  them  were  Scotch- 
Irish  from  Pennsylvania,  Virginia,  the  Caro- 
linas — a  hardy  race,  who  knew  not  defeat. 
Steadily  they  pushed  back  the  rampart  of 
savagery,  and  won  the  Ohio  valley  for  civiliza- 
ation. 

The  Indian  early  recognized  the  land-grab- 
bing temper  of  the  English,  and  felt  that  a 
struggle  to  the  death  was  impending.  The 
French  browbeat  their  savage  allies,  and,  easily 


302  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

inflaming  their  passions,  kept  the  body  of  them 
almost  continually  at  war  with  the  English — 
the  Iroquois  excepted,  not  because  the  latter 
were  English-lovers,  or  did  not  understand 
the  aim  of  English  colonization,  but  because 
the  earliest  French  had  won  their  undying 
enmity.  Amidst  all  this  weary  strife,  the  In- 
dian, a  born  trader  who  dearly  loved  a  bar- 
gain, never  failed  to  recognize  that  the  goods 
of  his  French  friends  were  dear,  and  that  those 
of  his  enemies,  the  English,  were  cheap.  We 
find  frequent  evidences  that  for  a  hundred 
years  the  tribesmen  of  the  Upper  Lakes  car- 
ried on  an  illicit  trade  with  the  hated  Eng- 
lish, whenever  the  usually-wary  French  were 
thought  to  be  napping. 

It  is  certain  that  English  forest  traders  were 
upon  the  Ohio  in  the  year  1700.  In  1715, — 
the  year  before  Governor  Spotswood  of  Vir- 
ginia, ' '  with  much  feasting  and  parade, "  made 
his  famous  expedition  over  the  Blue  Ridge, — 
there  was  a  complaint  that  traders  from  Car- 
olina had  reached  the  villages  on  the  Wabash, 
and  were  poaching  on  the  French  preserves. 
French  military  officers  built  little  log  stock- 
ades along  that  stream,  and  tried  in  vain  to 
induce  the  Indians  of  the  valley  to  remove  to 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  303 

St.  Joseph's  River,  out  of  the  sphere  of  Eng- 
lish influence.  Everywhere  did  French  traders 
meet  English  competitors,  who  were  not  to  be 
frightened  by  orders  to  move  off  the  field. 
New  France,  therefore,  determined  to  connect 
Canada  and  Louisiana  by  a  chain  of  forts 
throughout  the  length  of  the  Mississippi  basin, 
which  should  not  only  secure  untrammeled 
communication  between  these  far-separated 
colonies,  but  aid  in  maintaining  French  su- 
premacy throughout  the  region.  Yet  in  1725 
we  still  hear  of  "the  English  from  Carolina" 
busily  trading  with  the  Miamis  under  the  very 
shadow  of  the  guns  of  Fort  Ouiatanon  (near 
Lafayette,  Ind.),  and  the  French  still  vainly 
scolding  thereat.  What  was  going  on  upon 
the  Wabash,  was  true  elsewhere  in  the  Ohio 
basin,  as  far  south  as  the  Creek  towns  on  the 
sources  of  the  Tennessee. 

About  this  time,  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia 
began  to  exhibit  interest  in  their  own  over- 
lapping claims  to  lands  in  the  country  north- 
west of  the  Ohio.  Those  colonies  were  now 
settled  close  to  the  base  of  the  mountains,  and 
there  was  heard  a  popular  clamor  for  pastures 
new.  French  ownership  of  the  over-moun- 
tain region  was  denied,  and  in  1728  Pennsyl- 


304  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

vania  ' '  viewed  with  alarm  the  encroachments 
of  the  French."  The  issue  was  now  joined; 
both  sides  claimed  the  field,  but,  as  usual,  the 
contest  was  at  first  among  the  rival  forest 
traders.  In  the  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania 
capitals,  the  transmontane  country  was  still 
a  misty  region.  In  1729,  Col.  William  Byrd, 
an  authority  on  things  Virginian,  was  able  to 
write  that  nothing  was  then  known  in  that 
colony  of  the  sources  of  the  Potomac,  Roan- 
oke,  and  Shenandoah.  It  was  not  until  1736 
that  Col.  William  Mayo,  in  laying  out  the 
boundaries  of  Lord  Fairfax's  generous  estate, 
discovered  in  the  Alleghanies  the  head-spring 
of  the  Potomac,  where  ten  years  later  was 
planted  the  famous  "Fairfax  Stone,"  the 
southwest  point  of  the  boundary  between  Vir- 
ginia and  Maryland.  That  very  same  year 
(1746),  M.  de  Lery,  chief  engineer  of  New 
France,  went  with  a  detachment  of  troops 
from  Lake  Erie  to  Chautauqua  Lake,  and  pro- 
ceeded thence  by  Conewango  Creek  and  Alle- 
ghany  River  to  the  Ohio,  which  he  carefully 
surveyed  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  Great 
Miami. 

Affairs  moved  slowly  in  those  days.      New 
France  was  corrupt  and  weak,  and  the  Eng- 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  305 

lish  colonists,  unaided  by  the  home  govern- 
ment, were  not  strong.  For  many  years, 
nothing  of  importance  came  out  of  this  rivalry 
of  French  and  English  in  the  Ohio  Valley, 
save  the  petty  quarrels  of  fur-traders,  and  the 
occasional  adventure  of  some  Englishman 
taken  prisoner  by  Indians  in  a  border  foray, 
and  carried  far  into  the  wilderness  to  meet 
with  experiences  the  horror  of  which,  as 
preserved  in  their  published  narratives,  to 
this  day  causes  the  blood  of  the  reader  to 
curdle. 

Now  and  then,  there  were  voluntary  adven- 
turers into  these  strange  lands.  Such  were 
John  Howard,  John  Peter  Sailing,  and  two 
other  Virginians  who,  the  story  goes,  went 
overland  (1740  or  1741)  under  commission  of 
their  inquisitive  governor,  to  explore  the  coun- 
try to  the  Mississippi.  They  went  down  Coal 
and  Wood's  Rivers  to  the  Ohio,  which  in  Sal- 
ling's  journal  is  called  the  "  Alleghany."  Fi- 
nally, a  party  of  French,  negroes,  and  Indians 
took  them  prisoners  and  carried  them  to  New 
Orleans,  where  on  meager  fare  they  were  held 
in  prison  for  eighteen  months.  They  escaped 
at  last,  and  had  many  curious  adventures  by 
land  and  sea,  until  they  reached  home,  from 


306  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

which  they  had  been  absent  two  years  and 
three  months.  There  are  now  few  countries 
on  the  globe  where  a  party  of  travelers  could 
meet  with  adventures  such  as  these. 

At  last,  the  plot  thickened;  the  tragedy  was 
hastened  to  a  close.  France  now  formally 
asserted  her  right  to  all  countries  drained  by 
streams  emptying  into  the  St.  Lawrence,  the 
Great  Lakes,  and  the  Mississippi.  This  vast 
empire  would  have  extended  from  the  comb 
of  the  Rockies  on  the  west — discovered  in 
i  £43  by  the  brothers  La  Verendrye — to  the 
crest  of  the  Appalachians  on  the  east,  thus 
including  the  western  part  of  New  York  and 
New  England.  The  narrow  strip  of  the  At- 
lantic coast  alone  would  have  been  left  to  the 
domination  of  Great  Britain.  The  demand 
made  by  France,  if  acceded  to,  meant  the 
death-blow  to  English  colonization  on  the 
American  mainland;  and  yet  it  was  made  not 
without  reason.  French  explorers,  mission- 
aries, and  fur-traders  had,  with  great  enter- 
prise and  fortitude,  swarmed  over  the  entire 
region,  carrying  the  flag,  the  religion,  and  the 
commerce  of  France  into  the  farthest  forest 
wilds;  while  the  colonists  of  their  rival,  busy  in 
solidly  welding  their  industrial  common- 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  307 

wealths,  had  as  yet  scarcely  peeped  over  the 
Alleghany  barrier. 

It  was  asserted  on  behalf  of  Great  Britain, 
that  the  charters  of  her  coast  colonies  carried 
their  bounds  far  into  the  West;  further,  that 
as,  by  the  treaty  of  Utrecht  (1713),  France 
had  acknowledged  the  suzerainty  of  the  British 
king  over  the  Iroquois  confederacy,  the  Eng- 
lish were  entitled  to  all  lands  « '  conquered  "  by 
those  Indians,  whose  war-paths  had  extended 
from  the  Ottawa  River  on  the  north  to  the 
Carolinas  on  the  south,  and  whose  forays 
reached  alike  to  the  Mississippi  and  to  New 
England.  In  this  view  was  made,  in  1744,  the 
famous  treaty  at  Lancaster,  Pa. ,  whereat  the 
Iroquois,  impelled  by  rum  and  presents,  pre- 
tended to  give  to  the  English  entire  control  of 
the  Ohio  Valley,  under  the  claim  that  the  for- 
mer had  in  various  encounters  conquered  the 
Shawanese  of  that  region  and  were  therefore 
entitled  to  it.  It  is  obvious  that  a  country 
occasionally  raided  by  marauding  bands  of 
savages,  whose  homes  are  far  away,  cannot 
properly  be  considered  theirs  by  conquest. 

Meanwhile,  both  sides  were  preparing  to 
occupy  and  hold  the  contested  field.  New 
France  already  had  a  weak  chain  of  water- 


308  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

side  forts  and  commercial  stations, — the  ren- 
dezvous of  fur-traders,  priests,  travelers,  and 
friendly  Indians,  —  extending,  with  long  inter- 
vening stretches  of  savage-haunted  wilderness, 
through  the  heart  of  the  continent,  from  Lower 
Canada  to  her  outlying  post  of  New  Orleans. 
It  is  not  necessary  here  to  enter  into  the  de- 
tails of  the  ensuing  French  and  Indian  War, 
the  story  of  which  Parkman  has  told  us  so 
well.  Suffice  it  briefly  to  mention  a  few  only 
of  its  features,  so  far  as  they  affect  the  Ohio 
itself. 

The  Iroquois,  although  concluding  with  the 
English  this  treaty  of  Lancaster,  "on  which, 
as  a  corner-stone,  lay  the  claim  of  the  colonists 
to  the  West,"  were  by  this  time,  as  the  result 
of  wily  French  diplomacy,  growing  suspicious 
of  their  English  protectors;  at  the  same  time, 
having  on  several  occasions  been  severely 
punished  by  the  French,  they  were  less  ran- 
corous in  their  opposition  to  New  France. 
For  this  reason,  just  as  the  English  were  get- 
ting ready  to  make  good  their  claim  to  the 
Ohio  by  actual  colonization,  the  Iroquois  began 
to  let  in  the  French  at  the  back  door.  In 
1749,  Galissoniere,  then  governor  of  New 
France,  dispatched  to  the  great  valley  a  party 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  309 

of  soldiers  under  Celoron  de  Bienville,  with 
directions  to  conduct  a  thorough  exploration, 
to  bury  at  the  mouths  of  principal  streams 
lead  plates  graven  with  the  French  claim, — a 
custom  of  those  days, — and  to  drive  out  Eng- 
lish traders.  Celoron  proceeded  over  the 
Lake  Chautauqua  route,  from  Lake  Erie  to 
the  Alleghany  River,  and  thence  down  the 
Ohio  to  the  Miami,  returning  to  Lake  Erie 
over  the  old  Maumee  portage.  English  traders, 
who  could  not  be  driven  out,  were  found  swarm- 
ing into  the  country,  and  his  report  was  dis- 
couraging. The  French  realized  that  they 
could  not  maintain  connection  between  New 
Orleans  and  their  settlements  on  the  St.  Law- 
rence, if  driven  from  the  Ohio  valley.  The 
governor  sent  home  a  plea  for  the  shipment  of 
ten  thousand  French  peasants  to  settle  the 
region;  but  the  government  at  Paris  was  just 
then  as  indifferent  to  New  France  as  was  King 
George  to  his  colonies,  and  the  settlers  were 
not  sent. 

Meanwhile,  the  English  were  not  idle.  The 
first  settlement  they  made  west  of  the  moun- 
tains, was  on  New  River,  a  branch  of  the 
Kanawha  (1748);  in  the  same  season,  several 
adventurous  Virginians  hunted  and  made  land- 


310  AFLOAT  ON    THE  OHIO 

claims  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  Before 
the  close  of  the  following  year  (1749),  there 
had  been  formed,  for  fur-trading  and  colonizing 
purposes,  the  Ohio  Company,  composed  of 
wealthy  Virginians,  among  whom  were  two 
brothers  of  Washington.  King  George  granted 
the  company  five  hundred  thousand  acres, 
south  of  and  along  the  Ohio  River,  on  which 
they  were  to  plant  a  hundred  families  and 
build  and  maintain  a  fort.  As  a  base  of  sup- 
plies, they  built  a  fortified  trading-house  at 
Will's  Creek  (now  Cumberland,  Md.),  near 
the  head  of  the  Potomac,  and  developed  a 
trail  ("Nemacolin's  Path"),  sixty  miles  long, 
across  the  Laurel  Hills  to  the  mouth  of  Red- 
stone Creek,  on  the  Monongahela,  where  was 
built  another  stockade  (1752). 

Christopher  Gist,  a  famous  backwoodsman, 
was  sent  (1750),  the  year  after  Celeron's  ex- 
pedition, to  explore  the  country  as  far  down 
as  the  falls  of  the  Ohio,  and  select  lands  for 
the  new  company.  Gist's  favorable  report 
greatly  stimulated  interest  in  the  Western 
country.  In  his  travels,  he  met  many  Scotch- 
Irish  fur-traders  who  had  passed  into  the  West 
through  the  mountain  valleys  of  Pennsylvania, 
Virginia,  and  the  Carolinas.  His  negotiations 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  311 

with  the  natives  were  of  great  value  to  the 
English  cause. 

It  was  early  seen,  by  English  and  French 
alike,  that  an  immense  advantage  would  accrue 
to  the  nation  first  in  possession  of  what  is  now 
the  site  of  Pittsburg,  the  meeting-place  of  the 
Monongahela  and  Alleghany  rivers  to  form  the 
Ohio — the  "Forks  of  the  Ohio,"  as  it  was 
then  called.  In  the  spring  of  1753,  a  French 
force  occupied  the  new  fifteen-mile  portage 
route  between  Presque  Isle  (Erie,  Pa.)  and 
French  Creek,  a  tributary  of  the  Alleghany. 
On  the  banks  of  French  Creek  they  built  Fort 
Le  Breuf,  a  stout  log-stockade.  It  had  been 
planned  to  erect  another  fort  at  the  Forks  of 
the  Ohio,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  be- 
low; but  disease  in  the  camp  prevented  the 
completion  of  the  scheme. 

What  followed  is  familiar  to  all  who  have 
taken  any  interest  whatever  in  Western  his- 
tory. In  November,  Governor  Dinwiddie,  of 
Virginia,  sent  one  of  his  major-generals,  young 
George  Washington,  with  Gist  as  a  companion, 
to  remonstrate  with  the  French  at  Le  Boeuf 
for-occupying  land  "so  notoriously  known  to 
be  the  property  of  the  Crown  of  Great  Britain." 
The  French  politely  turned  the  messengers 


312  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

back.  In  the  following  April  (1754),  Wash- 
ington set  out  with  a  small  command,  by  the 
way  of  Will's  Creek,  to  forcibly  occupy  the 
Forks.  His  advance  party  were  building  a 
fort  there,  when  the  French  appeared  and 
easily  drove  them  off.  Then  followed  Wash- 
ington's defeat  at  Great  Meadows  (July  4). 
The  French  were  now  supreme  at  their  new 
Fort  Duquesne.  The  following  year,  General 
Braddock  set  out  from  Virginia,  also  by  Ne- 
macolin's  Path;  but,  on  that  fateful  ninth  of 
July,  fell  in  the  slaughter-pen  which  had  been 
set  for  him  at  Turtle  Creek  by  the  Indians  of 
the  Upper  Lakes,  under  the  leadership  of  a 
French  fur-trader  from  far-off  Wisconsin. 

From  the  time  of  Braddock's  defeat  until 
the  close  of  the  war,  French  traders,  with 
savage  allies,  poured  the  vials  of  their  wrath 
upon  the  encroaching  settlements  of  the  Eng- 
lish backwoodsmen.  Nemacolin's  Path,  now 
known  as  Braddock's  Road,  made  for  the  In- 
dians of  the  Ohio  an  easy  pathway  to  the 
English  borders  of  Pennsylvania,  Virginia, 
and  Maryland.  In  the  parallel  valleys  of  the 
Alleghanies  was  waged  a  partisan  warfare, 
which  in  bitterness  has  probably  not  had  its 
equal  in  all  the  long  history  of  the  efforts  of 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  313 

expanding  civilization  to  beat  down  the  encir- 
cling walls  of  barbarism.  In  1758,  Canada 
was  attacked  by  several  English  expeditions, 
the  most  of  which  were  successful.  One  of 
these  was  headed  by  General  John  Forbes, 
and  directed  against  Fort  Duquesne.  After  a 
remarkable  forest  march,  overcoming  mighty 
obstacles,  Forbes  arrived  at  his  destination  to 
find  that  the  French  had  blown  up  the  fortifi- 
cations, some  of  the  troops  retreating  to  Lake 
Erie  and  others  to  rehabilitate  Fort  Massac  on 
the  Lower  Ohio. 

Thus  England  gained  possession  of  the  val- 
ley. New  France  had  been  cut  in  twain. 
The  English  Fort  Pitt  commanded  the  Forks 
of  the  Ohio,  and  French  rule  in  America  was 
now  doomed.  The  fall  of  Quebec  soon  fol- 
lowed (1759),  then  of  Montreal  (1760);  and 
in  1763  was  signed  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  by 
which  England  obtained  possession  of  all  the 
territory  east  of  the  Mississippi  River,  except 
the  city  of  New  Orleans  and  a  small  outlying 
district.  In  order  to  please  the  savages  of  the 
interior,  and  to  cultivate  the  fur-trade, — per- 
haps also,  to  act  as  a  check  upon  the  westward 
growth  of  the  too-ambitious  coast  colonies, — 
King  George  III.  took  early  occasion  to  com- 


.'U4  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

mand  his  "loving  subjects"  in  America  not  to 
purchase  or  settle  lands  beyond  the  mountains, 
"without  our  especial  leave  and  license."  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  this  injunction  was  not 
obeyed.  The  expansion  of  the  English  col- 
onies in  America  was  irresistible;  the  Great 
West  was  theirs,  and  they  proceeded  in  due 
time  to  occupy  it. 

Long  before  the  close  of  the  French  and 
Indian  War,  English  colonists — whom  we  will 
now,  for  convenience,  call  Americans — had 
made  agricultural  settlements  in  the  Ohio 
basin.  As  early  as  1752,  we  have  seen,  the 
Redstone  fort  was  built.  In  1753,  the  French 
forces,  on  retiring  from  Great  Meadows,  burned 
several  log  cabins  on  the  Monongahela.  The 
interesting  story  of  the  colonizing  of  the  Red- 
stone district,  at  the  western  end  of  Brad- 
dock's  Road,  has  been  outlined  in  Chapter  I. 
of  the  text;  and  it  has  been  shown,  in  the 
course  of  the  narrative  of  the  pilgrimage,  how 
other  districts  were  slowly  settled  in  the  face 
of  savage  opposition.  Although  driven  back 
in  numerous  Indian  wars,  these  American  bor- 
derers had  come  to  the  Ohio  valley  to  stay. 

We  have  seen  the  early  attempt  of  the  Ohio 
Company  to  settle  the  valley.  Its  agents 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  315 

blazed  the  way,  but  the  French  and  Indian 
War,  and  the  Revolution  soon  following, 
tended  to  discourage  the  aspirations  of  the 
adventurers,  and  the  organization  finally 
lapsed.  Western  land  speculators  were  as 
active  in  those  days  as  now,  and  Washington 
was  chief  among  them.  We  find  him  first  in- 
terested in  the  valley,  through  broad  acres 
acquired  on  land-grants  issued  for  military 
services  in  the  French  and  Indian  War;  Rev- 
olutionary bounty  claims  made  him  a  still 
larger  landholder  on  Western  waters;  and,  to 
the  close  of  the  century,  he  was  actively  in- 
terested in  schemes  to  develop  the  region. 
We  are  not  in  the  habit  of  so  regarding  him, 
but  both  by  frequent  personal  presence  in  the 
Ohio  valley,  and  extensive  interests  at  stake 
there,  the  Father  of  his  Country  was  the  most 
conspicuous  of  Western  pioneers.  Dearly  did 
Washington  love  the  West,  which  he  knew  so 
well;  when  the  Revolutionary  cause  looked 
dark,  and  it  seemed  possible  that  England 
might  seize  the  coast  settlements,  he  is  said 
to  have  cried,  "We  will  retire  beyond  the 
mountains,  and  be  free!"  and  in  his  declining 
years  he  seemed  to  regret  that  he  was  too  old 
to  join  his  former  comrades  of  the  camp,  in 
their  colony  at  Marietta. 


316  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

As  early  as  1754,  Franklin,  in  his  famous 
Albany  Plan  of  Union  for  the  colonies,  had  a 
device  for  establishing  new  states  in  the  West, 
upon  lands  purchased  from  the  Indians.  In 
1773,  he  displayed  interest  in  the  Walpole 
plan  for  another  colony, — variously  called 
Pittsylvania,  Vandalia,  and  New  Barataria — 
with  its  proposed  capital  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Great  Kanawha.  There  were,  too,  several 
other  Western  colonial  schemes,  —  among 
them  the  Henderson  colony  of  Transylvania, 
between  the  Cumberland  and  the  Tennessee, 
the  seat  of  which  was  Boonesborough.  Read- 
ers of  Roosevelt  well  know  its  brief  but  bril- 
liant career,  intimately  connected  with  the 
development  of  Tennessee  and  Kentucky. 
But  the  most  of  these  hopeful  enterprises  came 
to  grief  with  the  political  secession  of  the 
colonies;  and  when  the  coast  States  ceded 
their  Western  land-claims  to  the  new  general 
government,  and  the  Ordinance  of  1787  pro- 
vided for  the  organization  of  the  Territory 
Northwest  of  the  River  Ohio,  there  was  no 
room  for  further  enterprises  of  this  character.  * 

*  See  Turner's  ' '  Western  State-Making  in  the  Revolution- 
ary Era,"  in  Amer.  Hist.  Rev.,  Vol.  I.;  also,  Alden's  "New 
Governments  West  of  the  Alleghanies,"  \r\Btill.  Univ.  Wis., 
Hist.  Series,  Vol.  II. 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  317 

The  story  of  the  Ohio  is  the  story  of  the 
West.  With  the  close  of  the  Revolution, 
came  a  rush  of  travel  down  the  great  river. 
It  was  more  or  less  checked  by  border  warfare, 
which  lasted  until  1794;  but  in  that  year, 
Anthony  Wayne,  at  the  Battle  of  Fallen 
Timbers,  broke  the  backbone  of  savagery 
east  of  the  Mississippi;  the  Tecumseh  upris- 
ing (1812-13)  came  too  late  seriously  to  affect 
the  dwellers  on  the  Ohio. 

There  were  two  great  over-mountain  high- 
ways thither,  one  of  them  being  Braddock's 
Road,  with  Redstone  (now  Brownsville,  Pa.) 
and  Pittsburg  as  its  termini;  the  other  was 
Boone's  old  trail,  or  Cumberland  Gap.  With 
the  latter,  this  sketch  has  naught  to  do. 

By  the  close  of  the  Revolution,  Pittsburg — 
in  Gist's  day,  but  a  squalid  Indian  village,  and 
a  fording-place — was  still  only  "  a  distant  out- 
post, merely  a  foothold  in  the  Far  West." 
By  1785,  there  were  a  thousand  people  there, 
chiefly  engaged  in  the  fur-trade  and  in  for- 
warding emigrants  and  goods  to  the  rapidly- 
growing  settlements  on  the  middle  and  lower 
reaches  of  the  river.  The  population  had 
doubled  by  1803.  By  1812  there  was  to  be 
seen  here  just  the  sort  of  bustling,  vicious 


318  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

frontier  town,  with  battlement-fronts  and  rag- 
ged streets,  which  Buffalo  and  then  Detroit 
became  in  after  years.  Cincinnati  and  Chi- 
cago, St.  Louis  and  Kansas  City,  had  still 
later,  each  in  turn,  their  share  of  this  experi- 
ence; and,  not  many  years  ago,  Bismarck, 
Omaha,  and  Leadville.  From  Philadelphia 
and  Baltimore  and  Richmond,  there  were  run- 
ning to  Pittsburg  or  Redstone  regular  lines  of 
stages  for  the  better  class  of  passengers;  freight 
wagons  laden  with  immense  bales  of  goods 
were  to  be  seen  in  great  caravans,  which  fre- 
quently were  "stalled"  in  the  mud  of  the 
mountain  roads;  emigrants  from  all  parts  of 
the  Eastern  States,  and  many  countries  of 
Europe,  often  toiled  painfully  on  foot  over 
these  execrable  highways,  with  their  bundles 
on  their  backs,  or  following  scrawny  cattle 
harnessed  to  makeshift  vehicles;  and  now  and 
then  came  a  well-to-do  equestrian  with  his 
pack-horses, — generally  an  Englishman, — who 
was  out  to  see  the  country,  and  upon  his  re- 
turn to  write  a  book  about  it. 

At  Pittsburg,  and  points  on  the  Alleghany, 
Youghiogheny,  and  Monongahela,  were  boat- 
building yards  which  turned  out  to  order  a 
curious  medley  of  craft — arks,  flat-  and  keel- 


HISTORICAL  OUTLINE  319 

boats,  barges,  pirogues,  and  schooners  of 
every  design  conceivable  to  fertile  brain. 
Upon  these,  travelers  took  passage  for  the  then 
Far  West,  down  the  swift-rolling  Ohio.  There 
have  descended  to  us  a  swarm  of  published 
journals  by  English  and  Americans  alike,  giv- 
ing pictures,  more  or  less  graphic,  of  the  men 
and  manners  of  the  frontier;  none  is  without 
interest,  even  if  in  its  pages  the  priggish  au- 
thor but  unconsciously  shows  himself,  and 
fails  to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  the  rest  of  na- 
ture. With  the  introduction  of  steamboats, — 
the  first  was  in  1811,  but  they  were  slow  to 
gain  headway  against  popular  prejudice, — the 
old  river  life,  with  its  picturesque  but  rowdy 
boatmen,  its  unwieldy  flats  and  keels  and 
arks,  began  to  pass  away,  and  water  traffic  to 
approach  the  prosaic  stage;  the  crossing  of 
the  mountains  by  the  railway  did  away  with 
the  boisterous  freighters,  the  stages,  and  the 
coaching-taverns;  and  when,  at  last,  the  river 
became  paralleled  by  the  iron  way,  the  glory 
of  the  steamboat  epoch  itself  faded,  riverside 
towns  adjusted  themselves  to  the  new  highways 
of  commerce,  new  centers  arose,  and  "side- 
tracked" ports  fell  into  decay. 


APPENDIX  B. 

SELECTED    LIST   OF  JOURNALS   OF    PREVIOUS 
TRAVELERS  DOWN  THE  OHIO. 

Gist,  Christopher.  Gist's  Journals;  with 
historical,  geographical,  and  ethnological 
notes,  and  biographies  of  his  contemporaries, 
by  William  M.  Darlington.  Pittsburg,  1893. 

Gist's  trip  down  the  valley,  from  October,  1750,  to  May, 
1751,  was  on  horseback,  as  far  as  the  site  of  Frankfort,  Ky. 
On  his  second  trip  into  Kentucky,  from  November,  1751,  to 
March  n,  1752,  he  touched  the  river  at  few  points. 

Gordon,  Harry.  Extracts  from  the  Journal 
of  Captain  Harry  Gordon,  chief  engineer  in 
the  Western  department  in  North  America, 
who  was  sent  from  Fort  Pitt,  on  the  River 
Ohio,  down  the  said  river,  etc.,  to  Illinois, 
in  1766. 

Published  in  Pownall's  "Topographical  Description  of 
North  America,"  Appendix,  p.  2. 

Washington,  George.  Journal  of  a  tour  to 
the  Ohio  River.  [Writings,  ed.  by  Ford,  vol. 
II.  New  York,  1889.] 

The  trip  lasted  from  October  5  to  December  i,  1770.    The 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  321 

party  went  in  boats  from  Fort  Pitt,  as  far  down  as  the  mouth 
of  the  Great  Kanawha.  This  journal  is  the  best  on  the  sub- 
ject, written  in  the  eighteenth  century. 

Pownall,  T.  A  topographical  description 
of  such  parts  of  North  America  as  are  con- 
tained in  the  [annexed]  map  of  the  Middle 
British  Colonies,  etc.  London,  1776. 

Contains  "Extracts  from  Capt.  Harry  Gordon's  Journal," 
"Extracts  from  Mr.  Lewis  Evans'  Journal"  of  1743,  and 
"  Christopher  Gist's  Journal "  of  1750-51. 

Hutchins,  Thomas.  Topographical  descrip- 
tion of  Virginia,  Pennsylvania,  Maryland,  and 
North  Carolina,  comprehending  the  Rivers 
Ohio,  Kenhawa,  Sioto,  Cherokee,  Wabash, 
Illinois,  Mississippi,  etc.  London,  1778. 

St.  John,  M.  Lettres  d'un  cultivateur 
Americain.  Paris,  1787,  3  vols. 

Vol.  3  contains  an  account  of  the  author's  boat  trip  down 
the  river,  in  1784. 

De  Vigni,  Antoine  F.  S.  Relation  of  his 
voyage  down  the  Ohio  River  from  Pittsburg 
to  the  Falls,  in  1788. 

Graphic  and  animated  account  by  a  French  physician  who 
came  out  with  the  Scioto  Company's  immigrants  to  Galli- 
polis.  Given  in  "Proc.  Amer.  Antiq.  Soc.",  Vol.  XI.,  pp. 
369-380. 

May,  John.  Journal  and '  letters  [to  the 
Ohio  country,  1788-89],  Cincinnati,  1873. 

One  of  the  best,  for  economic  views.  May  was  a  Boston 
merchant. 


322  AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 

Forman,  Samuel  S.  Narrative  of  a  journey 
down  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  in  1789-90. 
With  a  memoir  and  illustrative  notes,  by  Ly- 
man  C.  Draper.  Cincinnati,  1888. 

A  lively  and  appreciative  account.  Touches  social  life  at 
the  garrisons,  en  route. 

Ellicott,  Andrew.  Journal  of  the  late  com- 
missioner on  behalf  of  the  United  States  during 
part  of  the  year  1796,  the  years  1797,  1798, 
1799,  and  part  of  the  year  1800:  for  determin- 
ing the  boundary  between  the  United  States 
and  Spain.  Philadelphia,  1803. 

His  trip  down  the  river  was  in  1796. 

Baily,  Francis.  Journal  of  a  tour  in  un- 
settled parts  of  North  America,  in  1796  and 
1797.  London,  1856. 

The  author's  river  voyage  was  in  1796. 

Harris,  Thaddeus  Mason.  Journal  of  a  tour 
into  the  territory  northwest  of  the  Alleghany 
Mountains;  made  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
1803.  Boston,  1805. 

A  valuable  work.     The  author  traveled  on  a  flatboat. 

Michaux,  F.  A.  Travels  to  the  west  of  the 
Alleghany  Mountains.  London  (2nd  ed.), 
1805. 

Excellent,  for  economic  conditions.  The  expedition  was 
made  in  1802. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  323 

A  she,  Thomas.  Travels  in  America,  per- 
formed in  1806.  London,  1808. 

Among  the  best  of  the  early  journals,  although  abounding 
in  exaggerations. 

Cuming,  F.  Sketches  of  a  tour  to  the 
Western  country,  etc.,  commenced  in  1807 
and  concluded  in  1809.  Pittsburg,  1810. 

Bradbury,  John.  Travels  [1809-11]  in  the 
interior  of  America.  Liverpool,  1817. 

Melish,  John.  Travels  in  the  United  States 
of  America  [181 1].  Philadelphia,  1812,  2  vols. 

Vol.  2  contains  the  journal  of  the  author's  voyage  down 
the  river,  in  a  skiff.  The  account  of  means  of  early  naviga- 
tion is  graphic. 

Flint,  Timothy.  Recollections  of  the  last 
ten  years.  Boston,  1826. 

There  is  no  better  account  of  boats,  and  river  life  gener- 
ally, in  1814-15,  the  time  of  Flint's  voyage. 

Fearon,  Henry  Bradshaw.  Sketches  of 
America  [1817].  London,  1819. 

Palmer,  John.  Journal  of  travels  in  the 
United  States  of  North  America  [1817].  Lon- 
don, 1818. 

Evans,  Estwick.  A  pedestrian  tour  [1818] 
of  four  thousand  miles  through  the  Western 
states  and  territories.  Concord,  N.  H.,  1819. 

Birkbeck,  Morris.     Notes  on  a  journey  in 


324  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

America,   from  the  coast  of  Virginia  to  the 
Territory  of  Illinois.     London,  1818. 

The  author  traveled,  in  1817,  by  light  wagon  from  Rich- 
mond to  Pittsburg;  and  from  Pittsburg  to  Cincinnati  by 
horseback.  This  book,  interesting  for  economic  conditions, 
together  with  the  author's  "  Letters  from  Illinois,"  did  much 
to  inspire  emigration  to  Illinois  from  England.  His  English 
colony,  at  English  Prairie,  111.,  was  much  visited  by  travelers 
of  the  period. 

Faux,  W.  Journal  of  a  tour  to  the  United 
States  [in  1819]. 

Excellent  pictures  of  American  life  and  agricultural  meth- 
ods, by  an  English  gentleman  farmer.  Attacks  Birkbeck's 
roseate  views. 

Ogden,  George  W.  Letters  from  the  West, 
comprising  a  tour  through  the  Western  coun- 
try [1821],  and  a  residence  of  two  summers  in 
the  States  of  Ohio  and  Kentucky.  New  Bed- 
ford, Mass.,  1823. 

Welby,  Adlard.  A  visit  to  North  America 
and  the  English  settlements  in  Illinois.  Lon- 
don, 1821. 

The  author  went  by  horseback,  occasionally  touching  the 
river  towns. 

Beltrami,  J.  C.  Pilgrimage  in  Europe  and 
America.  London,  1828,  2  vols. 

In  Vol.  II  the  author  describes  a  steamboat  journey  in 
1823,  from  Pittsburg  to  the  mouth. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  325 

Hall,  James.  Letters  from  the  West. 
London,  1828. 

Valuable  for  scenery,  manners,  and  customs,  and  anec- 
dotes of  early  Western  settlement. 

Anonymous.  The  Americans  as  they  are; 
described  by  a  tour  through  the  valley  of  the 
Mississippi.  London,  1828. 

Trollope,  Mrs.  [Frances  M.].  Domestic 
manners  of  the  Americans.  London  and  New 
York,  1832. 

A  lively  caricature,  the  precursor  of  Dickens'  ' '  American 
Notes."  Mrs.  Trollope's  voyages  on  the  Ohio  were  in  1828 
and  1830. 

Vigne,  Godfrey  T.  Six  months  in  Amer- 
ica. London,  1832,  2  vols. 

Hamilton,  T.  Men  and  manners  in  Amer- 
ica. Philadelphia,  1833. 

Includes  a  steamboat  journey  from  Pittsburg  to  New 
Orleans. 

Alexander,  Capt.  J.  E.  Transatlantic 
sketches.  London,  1833,  2  vols. 

Vol.  II.  has  an  account  of  a  trip  up  the  river. 

Stuart,  James.  Three  years  in  North  Amer- 
ica. New  York,  1833,  2  vols. 

Vol.  II.  includes  a  voyage  up  the  Ohio.  The  author  takes 
issue,  throughout,  with  Mrs.  Trollope. 

Brackenridge,  H.  M.     Recollections  of  per- 


326  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

sons  and  places  in  the  West.      Philadelphia, 
1834. 

Describes  river  trips,  during  the  first  decade  of  the  cen- 
tury. 

Tudor ;  Henry.  Narrative  of  a  tour  [1831- 
32]  in  North  America.  London,  1834,  2  vols. 

The  Ohio  trip  is  in  Vol.  II. 

Arfwedson,  C.  D.  The  United  States  and 
Canada,  in  1832,  1833,  and  1834.  London, 
18,34,  2  vols. 

In  Vol.  II  is  a  report  of  a  steamboat  trip  up  the  river. 
Latrobe,   Charles  Joseph.     The  rambler  in 
North  America.     New  York,  1835,  2  v°ls- 

Vol.  II  has  an  account  of  a  descending  steamboat  voyage. 
Anonymous.     A  winter  in  the  West.     By  a 
New  Yorker.     New  York  (2nd  ed.),  1835,  2 
vols. 

In  Vol.  I.  is  an  entertaining  account  of  a  stage-coach  ride 
in  1833.  from  Pittsburg  to  Cleveland,  touching  all  settle- 
ments on  the  Upper  Ohio  down  to  Beaver  River. 

Nichols,  Thomas  L.  Forty  years  of  Amer- 
ican life.  London,  1864,  2  vols. 

In  Vol.  I.  the  author  tells  of  a  steamboat  tour  from  Pitts- 
burg  to  New  Orleans,  in  1840. 

Dickens,  Charles.  American  notes.  New 
York,  1842. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY  327 

Dickens,  in  1841,  traveled  in  steamboats  from  Pittsburg  to 
St.  Louis.  His  dyspeptic  comments  on  life  and  manners  in 
the  United  States,  at  the  time  grated  harshly  on  the  ears  of 
our  people;  but  afterward,  they  grew  strong  and  wise 
enough  to  smile  at  them.  The  book  is  to-day,  like  Mrs. 
Trollope's,  entertaining  reading  for  an  American. 

Rubio  (pseud.).  Rambles  in  the  United 
States  and  Canada,  in  1845.  London,  1846. 

A  typical  English  growler,  who  thinks  America  ' '  the 
most  disagreeable  of  all  disagreeable  countries;"  neverthe- 
less, he  says  of  the  Ohio,  "a  finer  thousand  miles  of  river 
scenery  could  hardly  be  found  in  the  wide  world." 

Mackay,  Alex.  The  Western  world;  or, 
travels  in  the  United  States  in  1846-47.  Lon- 
don, 1849. 

Good  for  its  character  sketches,  glimpses  of  slavery,  and 
report  of  economic  conditions. 

Robertson,  James,  A  few  months  in  Amer- 
ica [winter  of  1853-54].  London,  n.  d. 

Chiefly  statistical. 

Murray,  Charles  Augustus.  Travels  in 
North  America.  London,  1854,  2  vols. 

Vol.  I  has  the  Ohio-river  trip.  The  author  is  an  appre- 
ciative Englishman,  and  tells  his  story  well. 

Murray,  Henry  A .  Lands  of  the  slave  and 
the  free.  London,  1855,  2  vols. 

In  Vol.  I  is  an  account  of  an  Ohio-river  voyage. 
Ferguson,  William.     America  by  river  and 
rail  [in  1855].     London,  1856. 


328  AFLOAT  ON  THE  OHIO 

Lloyd,  James  T.  Steamboat  directory,  and 
disasters  on  the  Western  waters.  Cincinnati, 
1856. 

Valuable  for  stories  and  records  of  the  early  days  of  river 
transportation. 

Anonymous.  A  short  American  tramp  in 
the  fall  of  1864.  By  the  editor  of  "Life  in 
Normandy."  Edinburgh,  1865. 

An  English  geologist's  journal.  Distorted  and  overdrawn, 
on  the  travel  side.  He  took  steamer  from  Si.  Louis  to  Cin- 
cinnati. 

Bishop,  Nathaniel  H.  Four  months  in  a 
sneak-box.  Boston,  1879. 

The  author,  in  the  winter  of  1875-76,  voyaged  in  an  open 
boat  from  Pittsburg  to  New  Orleans,  and  along  the  Gulf 
coast  to  Florida. 


INDEX. 


ABERDEEN,  Ky.,  167. 

Boone's  Trail.    See  Wilderness 

Albany,  N.  Y..  299,  316. 

Road. 

Alden,  George  H.,  316. 

Brackenridge,  H.  M.,  325,  326. 

Alexander,  J.  E.,  325. 
Alexandria,  O.,  151. 

Bradbury,  John,  323. 
Braddock,  Gen.   Edward,   4,  16, 

Alexandria,  Va.,  131. 

17,  128,  312. 

Allegheny  City,  Pa.,  21. 

Braddock,  Pa.,  17. 

Alton,  Ind.,  224,  228,  231,  233,  234. 

Braddock's  Road,  4,  12,  160,  312, 

America,   111.    See  Mound    City, 

314,  317. 

111. 

Brandenburg,  Ind.,  223,  224. 

Antiquity,  O.,  115. 
Arfwedson,  C.  D.,  326. 

Bridgeport,  O.,  60. 
Brodenckville,  O.,  137. 

Aslie,  Thomas,  114,  273,  323. 

Brooklyn,  111.,  284. 

Ashland,  Ky.,  142,  143. 

Brown's  Islands,  265,  266. 

Athalia,  O.,  136. 

Brownsville,  Pa.,  1-6,  8,  12,  15,  19, 

Audubon,  John  James,  257,  258. 

30,  61,   129,   131,   160,   162,    180, 

Augusta,  Ky.,  170,  171. 
Aurora,  Ind.,  186,  187. 

Buff^lolVvlX. 

Burlington,  6.',  137. 

BAKER'S  BOTTOM.W.Va.,  36. 

Burr,  Aaron,  96,  97. 

Baily,  Francis,  322. 

Butler's  Run,  67. 

Baltimore,  162,  318. 

Byrd,  Col.  William,  304. 

Barlow,  Joel,  130,  131. 
Bearsville,  O.,  73,  74- 

CAIRO,  111.,  7,  15,   222,  284,   291, 

Beaver,  Pa.,  27-30. 

294,  295- 

Belpri,  O.,  100-102. 

California,  O.,  180. 

Beltrami,  J.  C.,  324. 
Berkeley,  Sir  William,  297. 

Caledonia,  111.      See    Olmstead, 
111. 

Bethlehem,  Ind.,  260. 

Cannelton,  Ind.,  242. 

Big  Bone  Creek,  191-200. 
Big  Bone  Lick,  152,  153,  191,  195- 

Captina,  O.,  70,  71. 
Captina  Creek,  67,  70-72. 

198,  268. 
Big  Buffalo  Lick,  183. 

Captina  Island,  69,  70. 

Cairo  lit  on,  Ky.,  206. 

Big  Grave  Creek,  62-66. 

Carrsville,  Ky.,  276. 

Bird's  Point  Landing,  Ky.,  277. 
Birkbeck,  Morris,  323,  324. 
Bishop,  Nathaniel  H.,328. 

Catlettsburg,  Ky.,  137,  141. 
Cave-in-Rock,  111.,  273,  274. 
Celeron  de  Bienville,  90,  125,  309, 

Bismarck,  N.  D.,  318. 

310. 

Bland,  Edward,  297. 

Ceredo,  W.  Va.,  137,  141- 

Blennerhassett,  Harman,  95-98. 
Blennerhassett's    Island,    95-98, 

Charleroi,  Pa.,  5,  8,  9. 
Charleston,  W.  Va.,  115,  127. 

101. 

Chartier,  Pa.,  22,  23. 

Blue  Lick,  160. 

Charter's  Creek,  23. 

Boone,  Daniel,  142,  206. 
Boonesborough,  Ky.,  316. 

Cherokee  Indians,  386. 
Cheshire,  O.,  119. 

330 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 


Chesapeake  &  Ohio  railway,  172. 
Chicago,  318. 
Chillicothe,  O.,  152,  179. 

Dravosburg,  Pa.,  13. 
Dufour,  John  James,  204,  205. 
Dunkard  Creek,  72. 

Chile,  O.,  170. 
Cincinnati,   88,  157,    159,  162,  170, 

Dunlap  Creek,  3. 
Dunmore,  Lord,  23,  61,  102,  103, 

177-184,  217,  252,  318,  324,  328. 

125-129,  218,  221. 

Circleville,  O.,  102. 

Clark,   George   Rogers,  4,   5,  70, 

EAST  LIVERPOOL,  O.,  35. 

72,  73,  94,  159,   178,   179,  218-220, 

Economy,  Pa.,  26. 

264,  285-287. 
Clarksville,  Ind,  219,  220. 

Elizabeth,  Pa.,  12,  15. 
Elizabethtown,  111.,  275,  276. 

Cloverport,  Ky.,  239-242. 
Coal  Valley,  Pa.,  13. 
Collins,  Richard  H.,  153. 

Ellicott,  Andrew,  181,  322. 
Emmerick's  Landing,  Ky.,  244. 
English  Prairie,  111.,  324. 

Columbia,  O.,  180. 

Enterprise,  Ind.,  254. 

Concordia,  Ky.,  234,  235. 
Conewango  Creek,  304. 

Erie,  Pa.,  31  1. 
Evans,  Estwick,  323. 

Connolly,  Dr.  John,  218. 

Evans,  Lewis,  321. 

Conwell,  Yates,  72. 

Evansville,   Ind.,  255,    256,   260, 

Corn  Island,  219,  220. 

265. 

Cornstalk,   Shawanee  chief,  128, 

129,  221. 

FAIRFAX,  Lord,  304. 

Covington,  Ky.,  178,  183,  184. 
Crawford,  Col.  William,  46. 

Fallen  Timbers,  181,  317. 
Falls  of  Ohio.     See  Louisville, 

Creek  Indians,  303. 

Ky. 

Cresap,  Michael,  67. 

Faux,  W.,  324. 

Cresap's  Bottom,  72. 
Croghan,  George,  91,  95,  114,  152. 
Crooked  Creek,  130,  244. 

Fearon,  Henry  Bradshaw,  323. 
Ferguson,  William,  327. 
Filson,  John,  179-181. 

Cumberland,  Md.,  310. 

Fish  Creek,  72,  73. 

Cumberland    Gap,    127,   160-162, 

Fishing  Creek,  74. 

317. 

Flint,  Timothy,  162,   163,  181,  323. 

Cumberland  Island,  282. 

Forbes,  Gen.  John,  285,  313. 

Cumberland    Pike.      See    Brad- 

Forks   of  the   Ohio.      See   Pitts- 

dock's  Road. 

burg. 

Cuming,  F.,  322,  323. 

Forman,  Samuel  S.,  322. 

Curran,  Barney,  29. 

Foreman,  Capt.  William,  63. 

Cypress  Bend,  260. 

Fort  Charlotte,  221. 

Duquesne,   16,   17,   285,  312, 

r\ARLINGTON,   William    M., 

313.    See  Pittsburg. 

Doddridge,  Joseph,  115. 
Deep  Water  Landing,  Ind.,  234. 
De  L6ry,  Gaspard  Chaussegros, 

Fincastle,  61. 
Finney,  180. 
Gower,  102,  103,  129. 
Harmar,  91. 

3°4- 

Henry,  61. 

Denman,  Matthias,  179. 

Le  Boeuf,  15,  26,  311,  312. 

De  Nonville,  Gov.  Jacques  Rene 

Massac,  285-288,  290,  313. 

de  Brisay,  300. 

Necessity,  4. 

Derby,  Ky.,  235-237,  243,  244. 

Pitt,   127,   129,  160-162.       See 

Detroit,  Mich.,  287,  318. 

Pittsburg. 

De  Vigni,  Antoine  F.  S.,  321. 

Randolph,  129. 

Diamond  Island,  264. 

Washington,  180. 

Dickens,  Charles,  66,  325,  326. 

Wilkinson,  291. 

Dillon's  Bottom,  66. 

Foster,  Ky.,  170,  171. 

Dinwiddie,  Gov.  Robert,  311. 

Frampton,  O.,  137. 

Dog  Island,  281,  282. 

Frankfort,  Ky.,  320. 

Dover,  Ky.,  170. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  316. 

Draper,  Lyman  C.,  321. 

Franquelin,  Jean  B.  L.,  299. 

INDEX. 


331 


Freeman,  O.,  40. 
French,  in  Ohio  valley,  15,  17,  29, 

Hennepin,  Father  Louis,  299. 
Henry,  Patrick,  159. 

30,  90,  125,  131,  13*.  197,  205,  285, 

Herculaneum,  Ind.,  260. 

286,  298-313,  321. 

Higginsport,  O.,  170. 

French  Creek,  311. 

Hockingport,  O.,  102-104. 

French  Islands,  253. 

Homestead,  Pa.,  17,  18. 

Fry,  John,  141. 

Horse  Head  Bottom,  148. 

QALISSONIERE,    Count    de, 

House-boat    life,   50-57,    62,    134, 
135,  203,  204,  207,  208. 
Howard,  John,  305,  306. 

Gallipolis,  O.,  130-133. 

Hungarians,  in  Ohio  valley,   44. 

Garrison  Creek,  185. 

45.  69- 

Genet,  Edmund  Charles,  286. 

Huntington,  W.  Va.,  136-139. 

George  III.,  king,  309,  310,  313, 

Hurricane  Island,  274,  275. 

314. 

Hutchins,  Thomas,  115,  321. 

Georgetown,  Pa.,  34. 

Germans,  in  Ohio  valley,  26,  132, 

I  MLAY,  Gilbert,  162. 

205. 

»  Inglis,  Mrs.  Mary,  152,  153. 

Girty,  Simon,  71. 

Ironton,  O.,  143-146,  157. 

Gist,  Christopher,   15,  26,  29,  91, 

Iroquois  Indians,  264,  298,    299, 

151,  152,  310,  3",  317,  320,  321. 

302,  307,  308. 

Glassport,  Pa.,  13. 

Irving,  Washington,  273. 

Glenwood,  W.  Va.,  134. 

Italians,  in  Ohio  valley,  69. 

Gnadenhiitten,  91. 

Golconda  Island,  276. 
Goose  Island,  220. 
Gordon,  Harry,  115,  320,  321. 

IAMESTOWN,  Va.,  296. 
«J  Jefferson,  Thomas,  97. 
Joliet,  Louis,  264. 

Grand  View,  Ind.,  246. 

Jones,  Rev.  David,  70,  71,  94. 

Grant,  Gen.  Ulysses  S.,  174. 

Joppa,  111.,  290,  291. 

Grape  Island,  So. 

Grape-Vine  Town.    See  Captina, 
O. 

I^ANSAS  CITY,  318. 
rv  Kaskaskia,  111.,  268,  285. 

Grave  Yard  Run,  72. 
Great  Bend,  172,  173. 
Great  Meadows,  312,  314. 

King  Philip,  221. 
Kingston,  O.,  40. 
Kneistly's  Cluster  Islands,  36-39. 

Green  River  Island,  255. 

Green  River  Towhead,  255,  256. 
Greenup  Court  House,  Ky.,  147. 
Greenville,  O.,  treaty  of,  181. 

LA  FAYETTE,  Marqufcs  de,  92. 
Lake  Chautauqua,299,  304,  309. 
Lake  Erie,  299,  304,  309,  313. 

Gunpowder  Creek,  192. 

Lancaster,  Pa.,  307. 

Guyandotte,  W.  Va.,  136. 

Lane,  Ralph,  296,  297. 

La  Salle,  Chevalier  de,  218,  263. 

LJALE,  John  P.,  153. 
I  Half  King,  34. 

264,  298.  299. 
Latrobe,  Charles  Joseph,  326. 

Half-Moon  Bar,  274. 

La  Verendrye  Brothers,  306. 

Hall,  Tames,  117,  128,  164,  325. 
Hamilton,  T.,  325. 

Lawtenceburg,  Ind.,  186. 
Leadville,  Colo.,  318. 

Harmar,  Gen.  Josiah,  180,  181. 
Harmonists,  264. 

Leavenworth,  Ind.,  224,225. 
Lederer,  John,  297. 

Harris,  Thaddeus    Mason,  162, 

Letart's  Falls,  113,  114,  117. 

322. 

Letart's  Island,  112. 

Harris's  Landing,  173. 

Levanna,  O.,  170. 

Hartford,  W.  Va.,  119, 

Lewis,  Gen.  Andrew,  128,  129. 

Haskellville,  O.,  136. 

Lewisport,  Ind.,  246. 

Hawesville,  Ky.,  242. 
Henderson,  Ky.,  256-259. 
Henderson,  Richard,  316. 

Lexington,  Ky.,  159. 
Limestone  Creek,  158,  159,   162, 
167. 

Henderson  Island,  258. 

Little  Beaver  Creek,  34. 

AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 


Little  Hurricane  Island,  252. 

Neville,  0.,  170,  173. 

Little  Meadows,  128. 

Neville's  Island,  25. 

Lloyd,  James  T.,  328. 

New  Albany,  Ind.,  220-223. 

Logan,  Mingo   chief,  36,  37,  102. 

New  Amsterdam,  Ind.,  224. 

103,  127,  128. 

New  Barataria,  316. 

Logstown,  Pa.,  26. 
Long  Bottom,  O.,  109-111,  117. 

Newburgh,  Ind.,  254,  255. 
New  Cumberland,  W.  Va.,  37,  40. 

Long  Reach,  79,  80. 
Losantiville.    See  Cincinnati. 

New  Harmony,  Ind.,  264. 
New  Haven,  W.  Va.,  119. 

Lostock,  Pa.,  13. 

New  Martinsville,  W.Va.,  74-77. 

Louisa,  Ky.,  141,  142. 

New  Matamoras,  W.  Va.,82. 

Louisville,  Ky.,   114,  169,  170,  180, 

New  Orleans,  12,  96,  97,  170,  205, 

209,  214-223,  226,  256,  284,  298,  299. 
Lower  Blue  River  Island,  226. 

305,  309,  313-  325,  328. 
Newport,  Christopher,  296. 

Newport,  Ky.,  176,  178,  183. 

JV/IACKAY,  Alex..  327. 
''»  McKee's  Rocks,  23,  178. 

Newport,  O.,  82,  83. 
New  Richmond,  O.,  176. 

McKeesport,  Pa.,  13-16. 

Nichols,  Thomas  L.,  326. 

Madison,  Ind.,  209-214. 

Nicholson,  interpreter,  70. 

Madison  County,  Va.,  297. 

Norfolk  &  Western  Railway,  144. 

Malott,  Catherine,  71. 

North  Bend,  O.,  173,  180,  181,  184, 

Manchester,  O.,  157. 

Northwest  Territory,  316. 

Marietta,   O.,  83-85,  87,  90-93,  130, 

131.  '57i  159.  162,  315. 
Mason  and  Dixon  line,  77. 

OGDEN,  George  W.,  324. 
Ohio  Company,  4,90,  114,  125. 

Mason  City,  W.  Va.,  119. 
Massac  Creek,  285. 

152,  310,  314,  315. 
Old  Wyandot  Town,  91. 

May,  John,  321. 
May,  Col.  William,  304. 

Olmstead,  111.,  291. 
Omaha,  Nebr.,  318. 

Maysville,  Ky.,  157,  159,  167,  169. 
Melish,  John,  323. 

Owensboro,  Ky.,  248-251,  271. 

Mercer,  George,  126. 
Metropolis,  111,  288,  289. 

DADUCAH,  Ky.,  284. 
»    Palmer,  John,   114,    115,   162, 

Miami  Indians,  303. 

164,  323. 

Michaux,  F.  A.  ,322. 

Parkersburg,  W.  Va.,  94,  95,  99, 

Middlenort,  O.,  118. 

loo,  102,  157. 

Millersport,  O.,  136. 

Parkinson's  Landing,  111.,  276. 

Milwood,  W.  Va.,  112. 

Parkman,  Francis,  308. 

Minersville,  O.,  n8. 

Patterson,  Robert,  179. 

Mingo  Bottom,  127. 

Pennant,  Edward,  297. 

Mingo  Indians,  36,  37,  46,  127,  148. 
Mingo  Junction,  O.,  44-50,  57,  58. 

Petersburg,  Ky.,  186,  187. 
Philadelphia,  12,  161,  318. 

Monongahela  City,  Pa.,  8,  12. 

Pickaway  Plains,  102,  103,  129. 

Montreal,  313. 

Picket,  Heathcoat,  205,  206. 

Moravian  missionaries,  91. 

Pine  Creek,  148. 

Morgantown,  Pa.,  3. 
Mound  builders,  3,  4,  64-66. 
Mound  City,  111.,  290-292,  294. 

Pipe  Creek,  67. 
Pittsburg,  3.  5-  6,   8,  17-22,  24,  as, 
27,  40,   59,  88,  129,  159,   166,  271, 

Mound  City  Towhead,  292-295. 

311-313,   316-318,    320,    321,    323, 

Moundsville,  W.  Va.,  64-66,  115. 

324,  326,  328. 

Mt.  Vernon,  Ind.,  262. 

Plum  Creek,  205. 

Murray,  Charles  Augustus,  327. 

Point  Pleasant,  W.  Va.,   1*5,  127- 

Murray,  Henry  A.,  327. 
Murraysville,  W.  Va.,  in. 

130,  157,  170,  173,  174. 
Point  Sandy,  Ind.,  227-231. 

( 

Pomeroy,  O.,  in,  118,  119,  157. 

NATCHEZ,  Miss.,  181. 

Pomeroy  Bend,  in,  119. 

Nemacolin's  Path,i6o,  310,  312. 
See  Braddock's  Road, 

Pontiac,  Indian  chief,  MI, 
Pope,  John,  5, 

INDEX, 


Portland,  Ky.,  119-221. 
Portsmouth,  O.,  151-153,  157. 

River  Mohawk,  298. 
Monongahela,  1-20,  39,  162, 

Power,  Thomas,  287. 

166,  310,  311,  318. 

Powhattan  Point,  W.  Va.,  70. 

Muskingum,  90,  91,  127. 

Pownall,  T.,  286,  320,  321. 

New,  297,  298,  309. 

Presquelsle,  311. 

Ottawa,  307. 

Proctor's  Run,  77. 

Potomac,  304,  310. 

Proctorville,  O.,  137. 

Roanoke,  296,  297,  304. 

Putnam,  Israel,  Jr.,  100,  101. 
Putnam,  Israel,  Sr.,  100. 

St.  Joseph's,  303. 
St.  Lawrence,  306,  309. 

Putnam,  Gen.  Rufus,  91,  102. 

Saline,  269,  272,  273. 

Salt,  223. 

QUEBEC,  299,  313. 

Shenandoah,  304. 

Scioto,  102,  103,  151-153,  321- 

Susquehanna,  298. 

RABBIT  HASH,  Ky.,  189-191. 

Tennessee,    283,     284,    288, 

Racine,  O.,  117,  118. 
Rafinesque,   Constantino  S.,  257, 

Wabash,  127,  263,    264,  302, 

258. 
Rapp,  George,  26. 

Wood,  305.    See  New. 

Redstone  Creek,  3-5,  72,  310. 
Redstone  Old  Fort.    See  Browns- 

Youghiogheny,   13-16,    162, 

ville,  Pa. 

Robertson,  James,  327. 

Richardson's  Landing,  Ky.,  224. 
Richmond,  Va.,  296,  318,  324. 
Ripley,  O.,  170. 
Rising  Sun,  Ind.,  189. 

Rochester,  Pa.,  27-30. 
Rockport,  Ind.,  246,  247. 
Rocky  Mountains,  discovery  of, 
306. 

River  Alleghany,  20,  299,  304,  305, 

Rome,  O.,  155-157,  260. 

309,  311,  318. 

Rono,  Ind.,  234,  235. 

Beaver,  27-30. 

Roosevelt,  Theodore,  316. 

Big  Hockhocking,   102-104. 
Big  Miami,  179,  180,  185. 

Rosebud,  O.,  133,  134,  156. 
Rose  Clare,  111.,  276. 

Big  Sandy,  119,  137,  141. 

Round  Bottom,  66,  69. 

Cherokee,  321. 

Coal,  305. 
Cumberland,  97,  282,    284, 

ST.  CLAIR,  Gen.   Arthur,   180, 
181,  286. 

316. 

St.  John,  M.,  321. 

Delaware,  298. 

St.  Louis,  170,  284,  318,  326,  328. 

Gauley,  298. 

St.  Mary's,  W.  Va.,  82. 

Great  Kanawha,  70,  115,  125- 

Salem,  O.,  91. 

*30.  'S3,  161,  297.  309.  3i6, 

Saline  Reserve  (Illinois),  268,  269. 

321. 
Great  Miami,  304. 

Sailing,  John  Peter,  305,  306. 
Sand  Island,  220-222. 

Green,  255,  259. 

Sandusky,  O.,  46. 

Illinois,  321. 

Sarikonk.    See  Beaver,  Pa. 

Indian  Kentucky,  206,  207, 

Schonbrunn,  91. 

Tames,  126,  127,  161,  2916. 

Scioto  Company,  130-132,321. 

Kentucky,  206. 

Sciotoville,  O.,  148-150. 

Licking,  179,  183. 
Little  Kanawha,  94,  95. 

Scotch-Irish,  in  Ohio  valley,  60, 
61,  301,  310. 

Little  Miami,  152,  177,  179, 

Scuffletown,  Ky.,  254. 

180. 
Little  Sandy,  147. 
Little  Scioto,  148. 

Seignelay,  Marquis  de,  300. 
Seneca  Indians,  34. 
Seven  Mile  Creek,  284,  285. 

Maumee,  264,  299,  309. 

Shaler,  Nathaniel  S.,  153. 

Miami,  309. 

Shannoah  Town,  151,  152. 

Mississippi,  284,   294,  303, 

Shawanee  Indians,    26,   67,    128- 

306,  307,  313,  3«- 

130,  151-153,  3°7- 

334 


AFLOAT  ON   THE  OHIO 


Shawneetown,  111.,  267-369. 

Sheffield,  O.,  118. 

Shingis  Old  Town.     See  Beaver, 

Pa. 

Shippingsport,  Pa.,  31-34. 
Shousetown,  Pa.,  25. 
Sinking  Creek,  238. 
Sistersyille,  W.  Va.,  78. 
Slavonians,  in  Ohio  valley,    44, 

Slim  Island,  261,  264. 
Sloan's  Station,  O.,  37. 
Smith,  John,  296. 
Smithland,  Ky.,  282. 
Smith's  Ferry,  Pa.,  34. 
Sohkon.    See  Beaver,  Pa. 
South  Point,  O.,  137. 
Spaniards,  Western  conspiracy, 

of,  286,  287. 

Springville,  Ky.,  151,  152. 
Spotswood,  Gov.  Alexander,  302. 
Steamboats,  first  on  Ohio,  165, 

166. 

Stephens,  Frank,  71. 
Stephensport,  Ky.,  237-239. 
Steubenville,  O.,  5, 43,  44, 157, 181. 
Stewart's  Island,  277-281,  283. 
Stuart,  James,  325. 
Swiss,  in  Ohio  valley,  204,  205. 
Symmes,  John  Cleves,  179-181. 
Syracuse,  O.,  118. 

TECUMSEH,  Indian  chief,  317. 
1    Tell  City,  Ind.,  242. 
Three  Brothers  Islands,  87. 


Three-Mile  Island,  252,  254. 

Transylvania,  316. 

Treaty,   of  Lancaster,   Pa.,  307, 

308;  of  Paris,  313;  of  Utrecht, 

307. 

Trent,  William,  95. 
Tudor,  Henry,  326. 
Turner,  Frederick  J.,  316. 
Turtle  Creek,  17,  312. 
Trollope,  Frances  M.,  325,  327. 
Troy,  Ind.,  243. 

UNIONTOWN,    Ky.,  262,   263. 
Upper  Blue  River    Island, 


VANDALIA,   Province  of.    126, 
316. 

Vanceburgh,  Ky.,  154. 
Venango,  29. 
Vevay,  Ind.,  204,  205. 
Vigne,  Godfrey  T.,  325. 
Vincennes,  Ind.,  264. 

XI/ABASH  ISLAND,  264. 

W   Walpole,  Thomas,  316. 

Walton,  Pa.,  13. 

Warrior  Branch,  72. 

Wars,  French  and  Indian,  15,  17, 
29,  3°.  90.  9L  152.  153,  285.  286, 
308,  314,  315;  Pontiac's,  221; 
Lord  Dunmore's,  36,  37,  61,  67. 
72,  73,  102,  103,  125-129,  218,  221 ; 
Revolution,  61,  63,  91,  92,  100, 
126,  128,  130,  151-161,  181,  182, 
264,  315,  317;  of  1812-15,  287.  291. 

Warsaw,  Ky.,  200,  304. 

Washington,  George,  4, 15,  23,  26. 
29.  34-  46,  67,  69,  70,  72.  92.  126- 
128,  141,  142,  161,  310-312,  315, 
320,  321. 

Wayne,  Anthony,  26, 181,  286,  317. 

Weiser,  Conrad,  26. 

Welby,  Adlard,  324. 

Wellsville.O.,35- 

West  Point,  Ky.,  223. 

Wheeling,  W.  Va.,  5,  41,  59-62, 
155.  157.  167,  187. 

Wheeling  Creek,  59-61. 

Wheeling  Island,  60. 

Wilderness  Road,  160-162,  317. 

Wilkinson,  Gen.  Tames,  287. 

Wilkinsonville,  111.,  291. 

Williamson's  Island,  78. 

Wills  Creek,  310,  312. 

Wilson,  Pa.,  13. 

Witten's  Bottom,  78,  79. 

Wood,  Abraham,  297. 

Wyandot  Indians,  46,  91. 

VELLOWBANK  ISLAND,  248- 
Yelfow  Creek,  35,  36. 
£ANE  BROTHERS,  60,  61. 


THIS  BOOK  HAS  BEEN  PRINTED 
DURING  OCTOBER,  1897,  BY  THE 
BLAKELV  PRINTING  COMPANY. 
CHICAGO,  FOR  WAY  A  WILLIAMS. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A     000  030  051     7 


